The Treacherous Snake of Xi'an
by Lucinda M. H. Cheshir
Summary: Beelzebub has risen from his prison! The only problem? Aside from EVERYTHING? No one knows about it! Holly may not know about Beelzebub's return yet, but with the help of Casca, Cas's angel half, a plan to oust Azazel from power may be in the making! Meanwhile, Cas's djinn half, Cassius, and Buck are away, trying to discover their topsy-turvy identities! Read and review! Merci!
1. Prologue: Prostheses

_x_

 _Fair warning, dear children who wish to pursue_

 _This tale of journeying friends;_

 _For not like the others this story is told_

 _Not just by ambiguous ends._

 _x_

 _For this story has more than slicing in half_

 _Or duels to the death for a soul_

 _The hands bloodied this time are different, for sure,_

 _From a heart as blackened as coal._

 _x_

 _A warning to those who cannot abide gore,_

 _To those who fear innocence lost,_

 _For herein are shed tears, transformed into blood_

 _And certain moral lines are crossed._

 _x_

* * *

 **Prologue: Prostheses**

 _The Island of Lanai (The state of Hawai'i)_

The ceiling fan churned the humid air gently as Beelzebub stared up at it. He'd been to this place before, long ago... before ceiling fans had even been thought of, before this island had gotten its mischievous spirits banished. Those had been fun times, eating people, terrifying villages, but they had long since passed. Nowadays, instead of huts made of little more than pillars and thatched roofs, there were little houses that lined the quiet roads. Everyone knew everyone, it seemed, and Beelzebub knew that he would have to be careful or risk stirring up suspicion of who and what he truly was. But for now, in the heat of the afternoon, lying on the bed he'd stolen, it was all Beelzebub could do to lie still and think.

Humans were such innovative creatures, Beelzebub reflected as he flexed the mechanical fingers of his brand new right hand. Just a few centuries ago- a blink of an eye to a demon like him- there was nothing he could have done about losing his limbs so permanently, at least, not if he wanted to retain his human appearance and remain undetected by his enemies up in Heaven. Probably in another few hundred years, humans would be able to regenerate lost limbs. It was really quite astounding, and too few demons gave humans any credit these days. Too few djinn, as well, not that Beelzebub had ever encountered many djinn. Unlike humans, djinn, particularly evil djinn, actually noticed when he was around. It was strange, how his brothers from up in Heaven could disguise themselves completely, but he never seemed able to quite manage. Perhaps it was because he was never one for subtlety, like some of his hellish brothers. Lucifer, for example, was an absolute ace at sneaking around and often went unrecognized by even the angels.

But in all honesty, angels and djinn were both boring. Beelzebub knew that humans were the future of innovation, and this strange arm proved it. Not to mention the thing he'd ordered it off of- to think, that just sixteen years ago, before he'd been sealed up, that this Internet had barely begun to exist! And now it had exploded. He could go to any number of websites and watch people making food, or look up some savory recipe with the click of a few keys, or perhaps just look at tantalizing photographs of cake. It was wonderful and had made him eat like a king since he'd crawled out of that miserable hole in the ground.

Which reminded him... that one djinn woman... what was she up to now? Perhaps the Internet could help him find out. Feeling restless he opened his shiny new laptop with his astoundingly dexterous false hand and opened up a searchbar in the browser. Hesitantly, he typed in the name and within seconds he got... a big fat nothing. It was as though the woman didn't exist.

Beelzebub frowned and swept his unruly dark bangs out of his mismatched eyes, wincing slightly as his hand brushed his scar, a scar that still felt fresh. _Damn those meddling djinn_ , he frowned, and decided to search for another name. Several useless encyclopaedia entries later, Beelzebub was no closer to finding the son that had done his job so well in freeing him... mostly.

Perhaps the Internet, as wonderful as it was, was not all powerful. It was, after all, only a creation of mundanes, who when all was said and done, were as useful as a flavourless meal. Which was what they were most of the time anyway.

No, the Internet couldn't help him find any djinn, but perhaps...

Abruptly, Beelzebub got out of bed, standing on his new prosthetic leg, which he'd ordered specifically to match his new arm. Sleek and black and useful only for keeping him balanced.

Again he looked up at the ceiling fan, though this time his gaze looked past it, to something that only he and those like him could see.

"I know you're up there and I know you know I'm down here. Why don't we cut the crap and have a chat?" His voice was scratchier than it was when he was in purely demon form: Beelzebub wasn't sure he liked it. It lacked the proper menace.

A sound like pigeons fluttering their wings came and suddenly he was not alone in the little house.

"What do you want?" A hostile female voice asked.

His mouth curling into a wicked smile that seemed too large for his face, Beelzebub turned around. "Now, now, Azrael, there's no need to talk like that." He said, oozing silky confidence. "I'm ready to call in that favor you owe me."

Azrael crossed her arms, the chainmail underneath the black robes she wore clinking, her bloodstained feathery wings shifting irritably, stubbornly visible. "Just because you helped me out once when you were still an angel doesn't mean I have to help you now. Besides, you'll just ask me to do something wicked, I know it."

Beelzebub did his best to look horribly offended. "Me?" He laid his prosthetic hand delicately on his collarbone. "I would never ask you to violate your calling. I just want you to find some people for me. Some family."

Azrael pursed her lips, trying not to let her irritation colour her dark face. "Who?"

Beelzebub's smile widened and hellfire flickered behind his mismatched eyes. "My dear sons and their mother."

"Fine." Azrael tutted resentfully, and with another flutter of her bloodstained wings, the angel vanished.

"Excellent," Beelzebub muttered to himself, smirking with self-congratulatory smugness. "Everything is proceeding as planned."

* * *

 _ **Author's**_ **Notes:** _I'm back, baby! And so is Beelzebub... oops. Speaking of Beelzebub, I've checked and re-checked the always lovely inconsistent sources that I have, and several have told me that Beelz is the demon of gluttony. So I guess that's what he'll be for us, too. Hence his fascination with foodie blogs._

 _Anyway, I'm super stoked for this installment to get going, and though the draft isn't quite finished, rest assured that I have enough to be updating every Sunday from now until next July, so updates should be regular! Also, on a much more serious note, in case my little poem up there didn't make it abundantly clear already, it's only fair to warn you, my dear readers, that we **will** be talking about some extremely dark and morbid themes later on in the story, and rest assured that I will be adding another warning to the beginning of each chapter that deals with such dark themes and going into a little bit more detail about possible triggers. I just don't want things to come out of nowhere- and let me tell you, there are parts that left my hands twitching for days after I wrote them in store for us in some of the later chapters. (As such, the rating for this is a very reluctant very tenuous T for now.) But until then, let's revel in the lovely romp that is caused by the fact that Lucy now has an actual schedule for her writing! Read, take it easy, and be sure to leave me a review (I love reviews, even if they're keyboard mashes about how terrified they are about what's to come since I'm being so cautious, creepy poem and everything)!_

 _Remember kids, updates are on Sundays from now on~!_

 _~Lucinda :)_


	2. Chapter 1: Surprise!

**Chapter 1: Surprise!**

"Cas, I don't get it. Why are you telling me to dress up?" Holly asked through the door of her bathroom as she pulled on a neat mustard yellow blouse.

Casca, all prim, proper, and perfectly angelic with his neatly combed hair, bright eyes, and excited expression, smiled mysteriously.

"You'll thank me when you get downstairs, Holly. Today's a very special day, after all."

"What, April fourteenth? It's not even my birthday." Holly opened the bathroom door, still looking a little rumpled from sleep. "What's going on today?"

Casca's smile widened. "Trust me, you want to look nice. Which, incidentally, you do. I like the hijab today."

Holly smiled and smoothed out the wrinkles in her yellow hijab with black print lions on it. "Thanks. It reminds me of somewhere warm. Speaking of, can you believe that London is _still_ chilly this time of year? I can barely use my powers!"

"Is it? I hadn't noticed. I'm not really bothered by temperatures any more, I've found." Casca confessed, still acting giddy.

"Lucky." Holly pouted. Casca laughed.

"You do know how ironic that statement is, don't you?"

Holly rolled her eyes, smiling, and pushed her new rectangular wire rimmed glasses further up the bridge of her nose.. "Yes, Cas, I'm aware that me calling you lucky is ironic because you're an angel now, and I'm the djinn in the room."

"Good, because it is." Casca said, green eyes still twinkling with mirth.

"Are you going to tell me why today is so special?" Holly asked, changing the subject before her angel friend got too carried away.

"No, I think it's best you find out from your family." Casca nodded, smiling.

"Are you going to come downstairs with me?" Holly asked. Casca's smile stayed, but it now seemed pasted on.

"No." He said again, his voice more strained. "I don't think that would be in their best interest. I'm only visiting, after all."

"Everyone misses you, though. And Cassius, too. When is he going to come home? It's been over a month." Holly wheedled, finding a pair of grey socks with little embroidered pieces of pizza on them and slipping them on her feet.

"He'll come back when he's found some answers about himself. You can't rush things like this, Holly. As for me, I was told to limit my influence as best I could, so though Michael granted me permission to visit you every so often, the same does not apply to your family."

"Ugh, why? And which one is Michael again, is he the guy who punches the devil in the face all the time in those pictures?"

"Holly, Michael the Archangel is God's second-in-command." Casca explained, horrified that Holly was talking about him in such a way.

"Yeah, one of Jibril's brothers, right? Well I'm sorry if I can't remember all of those regular-sounding names."

"You remember Gabriel's well enough." Casca pointed out.

"That's because we're buddies." Holly told him as though that should have been obvious. "And I remember Deamiel's name because it's weird and he gave me really good advice that one time. But I've never met Michael, just seen him beating up Satan in a bunch of paintings in the art museums Nimrod makes me go to."

"Those are depictions of a very famous incident." Casca justified stiffly. "And please don't throw around the names of big-time demons like that. Just because you're this age's prophet does not mean you're immune to what demons can do to you."

"I already learned that, Cas." Holly said irritably. "Demon fire? Remember? That guy Samuel-"

"Raphael," Casca corrected automatically.

"Yeah, him, fixed me up good but that doesn't mean I forgot." She paused and looked up at her ceiling, its starry sky looking quite flat in all the sunlight streaming in from the windows. "By the way, thanks for that, Mr. Angel Doctor guy. It was real nice of you."

"You don't have to look up, you know. Or shout like that." Casca said. "We can hear you just fine if you talk normally."

"Yeah, but aren't people everywhere trying to talk to you guys?"

"Surprisingly fewer than you might think. Take Christians, for example: They all believe in God and Jesus and some believe in the Holy Spirit, but very few take the time to talk to angels or ask us for intercession. Children do a lot, but the older crowd not so much."

"Huh, weird." Holly tugged on a pair of zippered brown leather half boots as she digested this information. "You should still come downstairs with me. You can turn invisible to everyone but me, right?"

"I don't know how to do that, actually." Casca confessed. Holly scowled.

"Party pooper."

"If you'd thought it was a party, would you have worn something nicer than jeans?" Casca asked.

Holly considered this for a moment, looking down at her choice of pants. "No." She finally admitted. "I like jeans. They make both Nimrod and Alexandra cringe."

"Ah. Parent-child disparity. I understand."

"Did you _ever_ argue with your parents when you were a kid?" Holly asked, laughing at the idea. Even the Cas she'd known Freshman year seemed like the type of person who got along swimmingly with his parents at all times, building a relationship based on trust and good grades.

"There was one time," Casca admitted. "I didn't want to go to a museum because I was in the middle of reading a book, and I sulked about it the whole way through the Met."

"Dude, that's not fighting with your parents. I got in trouble all the time because of grades and reading stuff with witches and things in them. Like Harry Potter. Though," Holly continued with a bit of a smirk, "I won that argument in the end. Dad ended up reading them and loved them so much that he took me and Mark to see the movies."

"I read those books. Never really got the appeal. Lord of the Rings was so much better, anyway." Casca shrugged. "It's almost ten, you should get downstairs."

" _Whyyy_ though?" Holly pressed. She hated feeling curious. It sucked the fun out of everything, and it bothered her that Casca was so keen on getting her downstairs yet refused to tell her why, not to mention accompany her.

" _You'll find out,_ " Casca insisted, and pulled her up out of her armchair and out of her bedroom door. Holly went along reluctantly.

"By the way, what's happening on the Azazel front?" Holly asked, as a means to prolong their conversation and thereby trick him into divulging the reason for all the secrecy. "Has he killed any more people yet?"

"Juliet Brown's body was found three weeks ago by Scotland Yard, and there's an ongoing investigation. They won't find anything, though. Even if they do, Azazel's vanished. Now, _downstairs._ "

"I have a natural aversion to surprises," Holly lied quickly. "If you surprise me, it could lead to someone getting hurt. Probably me."

"Don't lie, it's unbecoming of your soul." Casca chided as he propelled her towards the old wooden staircase at the end of the hall.

"Ugh, _fine._ " Holly rolled her eyes and shook him off. "I'll go downstairs and find out what this surprise is. But I won't be happy about it."

"I think you will." Casca smiled, and gave her a little push down the first step. Holly rolled her eyes and went downstairs, listening to the soft fluttering of feathery wings as her best friend vanished from the hallway upstairs.

With very little direction, Holly headed to the dining room, feeling her insides grumble with hunger. If she was going to be surprised in any way, then there had better be some excellent breakfast food involved.

However, when she reached the swinging dining room doors, she heard a great series of scrambling noises from inside, and whispers as well.

" _She's coming,_ " Nimrod whispered urgently.

" _I know, I know, there, finished._ " Alexandra whispered back.

" _I'm not! Someone help me! And where's Groanin?_ " Mark whispered unsteadily.

Rolling her eyes, Holly threw open the door and stared at the scene before her.

Presents were piled neatly on the table, wrapped in red and gold paper. A few red balloons were resting in clusters in the corners of the dining room. Mark was on a stepladder, trying his best to tape up the end of a banner that stated the reason for the celebration.

In curly golden lettering it read _Happy Birthday, Holly._ Blankly, Holly read it. Then read it again.

"My birthday is in June," She said stupidly. Alexandra smiled and threw up her hennaed hands.

"Surprise! It's today!" She gestured at the banner Mark was still taping up with a jazz hand like flourish.

"But it's April fourteenth," Holly said, feeling like she was missing something. "My birthday's June fifth."

Mark jumped down from the ladder to explain. "That was the day Dad brought you home, kiddo. We never knew your real birthday."

"So..." Holly began, trying her best to process what she was being told. "I'm sixteen today?"

"Technically, no." Nimrod interjected. The familiar phrase gave Holly the feeling that he was about to go on a long and rambly explanation.

"Three sentences or less, Nimrod." She warned.

Nimrod looked at her peevishly, annoyed that he'd been cheated out of the thing he liked to do most: long-winded explanations. "Once djinn extract their dragon teeth and gain their powers, the first birthday they have after that is considered their first birthday. So, according to djinn tradition, you are now one year old, Holly. Happy birthday, my child."

"Well that's dumb." Holly told him point blank.

"It's tradition." Nimrod replied stiffly. Behind him, out of sight, Mark nodded sympathetically at Holly.

The conversation was interrupted by the appearance of Groanin through the kitchen door, carrying breakfast in. "By heck, young miss," He said with mild surprise, "What are you doing up so early?"

"Funny feeling something was going on." Holly returned, thinking it best not to mention the certain someone who had shaken her awake an hour ago with terrifying cheeriness for being awake so early.

"Zoe and some of her friends will be coming over later," Alexandra said, ushering Holly into the seat at the head of the table, usually occupied by Nimrod. "Philippa and John send their love, but something came up for them, I believe. They also sent along a few presents, I believe."

"And this one," Nimrod picked up a small box wrapped in battered green striped paper, completely clashing with the rest of the gift wrappings. "Came in the mail this morning."

Holly looked at the handwriting that addressed the parcel to her, and her heart twinged painfully. Even blotted and water stained, Holly could recognize Cas's- or rather, Cassius's- handwriting.

"It looks like it came a long way." Mark observed, helping Groanin disperse the breakfast dishes over the table.

Holly nodded, momentarily unable to speak, feeling all too well the painful lump in her throat and the tears welling up in her eyes despite herself. For a moment or two, it was all she could do to clutch the gold crucifix she wore around her neck and fight back the tears.

"Yeah," She finally agreed. "Thank you."

* * *

 _ **Author's notes:** Yes, Holly's birthday is on April 14th. Make of that what you will. (Also to note, Cas's birthday is December 21st, Azazel's birthday is June 21st (I couldn't resist), and Mark's birthday is October 4th.)_

 _I think that's about it for this chapter, tune in next week for chapter 2, but until then, read and review!_

 _Salut!_

 _~Lucinda_


	3. Chapter 2: A Chat in the Catacombs

**Chapter 2: A Chat in the Catacombs**

Cassius and Buck sat opposite each other outside of the tiny cafe, sharing a lunch in the crisp Italian air. Cassius sneezed.

"Geez, man, watch it." Buck said reproachfully, tugging his pasta Puttanesca out of range. "Use a kleenex or something."

"I can't help it," Cassius said, fishing around in his knapsack for his packet of tissues. "Haven't you ever had a cold?" He pulled out a tissue and wiped his runny nose.

"Of course I have, wet wipe." Buck rolled his eyes. "But they never lasted long. My mom's a djinn doctor. Plus they were always in the dead of winter. What's your excuse, it's April."

"Doesn't stop it from being chilly. Besides, it's spring now and there's a lot of ah-ah... _CHOO!_ " Cassius wiped his nose again. "...Pollen in the air." He finished. He took a sip of wine to clear his head and grimaced at the sharp taste*. "In any case, you really ought to work on your attitude. I don't know if you've noticed, but it's terrible."

"The result of years of concentrated disdain for the world." Buck explained sagely, picking up a forkful of pasta. "You really ought to try it sometime, Golden Boy."

"Hey, how come you call Holly 'Holz' and me 'Golden Boy,' but I'm not allowed to come up with a nickname for you?" Cassius asked, suddenly indignant.

Buck shrugged. "Because you're not very imaginative, Golden Boy."

"I am so," Cassius protested. "I just need time to think up good nicknames."*

Buck rolled his eyes again and took another bite of pasta. "Hurry up and eat already, we have places to go."

"Oh, yeah. Why are we in Malpensa again?" Cassius asked, scooping up a forkful of spaghetti.

"Dude, this was your suggestion." Buck reminded him with some irritation.

Cassius nodded, feeling sleepy and congested. "Oh, yeah. I forget why, though. Did I tell you?"

Buck sighed. "You said that the catacombs were the place where John and Philippa found my sister's body being guarded by an angel named Samael. You said that you wanted to have a chat with him, if he's still there."

"Oh, right. I forgot. Maybe he'll have some advice for us, or at the very least tell us where we're supposed to be going for answers."

"If you're lucid enough to get them." Buck muttered under his breath.

"What was that?" Said Cassius.

"Nothing," Buck shook his head, "Don't you have cold medicine or something?"

"Somewhere, but it doesn't really work. I think it's more designed with mundanes in mind."

Buck sighed as he finished off his pasta and wine. "I was _told_ that you were the _smart_ one," He muttered to himself, and tugged his own knapsack into his lap to root around in it. He quickly produced two items: A clay jar with a cork stopper that was warm to the touch, and a small black stone that was steaming in the chill air.

He pointed at the clay jar. "This is a Levitator. My mom taught me how to make them ages ago. It's basically cold medicine for djinn. Drink it. That thing," he pointed at the little black stone, "is a Salamander Stone. I guess it's from the inside of a volcano or something, but the point is it won't get cold in a hurry. Keep it with you until your cold goes away, but I want it back."

Cassius nodded gratefully. "Thanks, Buck." He said sincerely, tucking the Salamander Stone into his coat pocket and popping the cork off of the clay jar to smell the contents before drinking them in three quick gulps.

Immediately he felt a warm, glowing feeling spread from his throat to the rest of his body, and his sinuses cleared a bit. But not much. He took a few more bites of his spaghetti and laid his fork down. "Ready to go?" He asked. Buck nodded and stood.

"You can foot the bill this time. You owe me." He said mischievously

Cassius rolled his eyes. "Yeah, fine. Here's your jar back." He pushed the clay jar back across the small table and pulled his wallet out of his pocket. He counted out the euros to pay for their meal, leaving a generous tip while he was at it.

"Where to now?" Buck asked as they headed off down the cobbled street.

"The catacombs," Cassius said decisively. "Wherever the heck those are."

"They're like the only tourist attraction in this tiny town." Buck scoffed. He pointed at the subway map as they came to the stairs leading downwards. "See? Not hard to find at all."

"Oh, hey, you're right." Cassius noticed mildly, tugging another tissue from his pocket and wiping his nose again. "Well, subway we go."

"Dude, you need to shake that cold already. You keep making less and less sense."

Cassius gave him a halfhearted thumbs-up.

* * *

If Cassius hadn't felt so congested and disoriented because of his cold, he probably would have been able to appreciate the macabre beauty of the Malpensa Catacombs as the sparse early April weekday tourists were certainly doing, taking photographs of the walls of skulls and chattering to each other in a variety of languages. Buck, meanwhile, devoted himself to making odd faces at the skulls as they passed them. Cassius merely tried not to drip snot. When they'd finally found a quiet, remote corner where no one was near, Cassius stopped.

"Okay, so angels tend to answer to their names if you call them politely enough, I guess, at least if you're on their turf. So just something to remember, be poli-"

"Yo Samael where are you, we want to talk!" Buck called out, so casually that no one within earshot batted an eyelid, no doubt thinking that the two boys were looking for a friend.

Except for Cassius, of course. " _Buck_ ," He hissed angrily. "Why would you do that?! Now he's going to be annoyed with us-"

"Darn straight I am, tiny djinn boys." Said a stern voice from just behind them. Slowly, Cassius and Buck turned around and looked up, up, up at the towering figure before them.

Naturally it was now that Cassius had to sneeze. As happened when he was sick, snot flew everywhere, especially all over the front of the huge man's ill-fitting white suit. Luckily, he'd had the presence of mind to lift the ancient skull he held cradled in his right hand high above his head, out of the range of Cassius' sneeze.

The man frowned, a terrifying expression on a person so large. "You ought to take some vitamin C or whatever it is you djinn do to ward off colds." He scowled, waving a hand in front of the snot stain disgustedly. A moment later it had vanished.

"Uh... Samael, right?" Cassius asked tentatively.

Samael shrugged, brushing his shaggy blond hair out of his eyes. "Most people call me Sam these days. And what might I ask are you two doing waking me up in the middle of the day? I don't like prowling around out here during opening hours."

"Sorry," Cassius winced. "I'm Cassius Malone and this is my cousin Buck-"

"Sachertorte, yeah." Samael finished, waving his free hand dismissively. "What do you _want_?"

"With all due respect, uh, _Sam_ , but we'd like to know what's going on up in Heaven." Cassius announced awkwardly.

"That's classified information, kid." Samael said unblinkingly. "I can't just hand that out."

"Hey, we deserve to know!" Buck piped up with great indignance. "It's 'cause of _his_ brother that everyone's in this mess to begin with!" He waved an arm at his cousin, not seeming to notice Cassius' panicked head-shaking.

"Oh really now?" Samael asked, his blond eyebrows arching in unison. "And why should that make any difference, son of Beelzebub?"

Cassius winced at the name. But he took a deep, sniffly breath and dared to look Samael in the baby blue eye. "I'm friends with the Prophet Holly Godwin." He said bravely, and indeed, bravery was what he needed: Looking a hostile angel in the eye was no easy feat. Cassius could feel his knees shaking beneath him even as he spoke.

"Oh, that _girl._ " Samael sighed, the raging fire behind his eyes easing up as he spoke. Something about the way he said _girl_ made Cassius' bigotry senses tingle.*

"What do you have against girls?" He asked suspiciously. Samael shrugged.

"Nothing, really, it's just that being an angel is man's work."

"And your job is to what, exactly? Carry that old skull around?" Buck asked. He didn't much appreciate the sexist undertones either, especially since he could practically hear his mother's voice telling him off, not to mention imagine his sister Faustina wearing a tight-lipped expression. (Though honestly did the Blue Djinn ever wear any other expression?)

Samael waved a hand again. "No, no, and don't get me wrong, I've got nothing against girls, it's just-"

"Nothing is 'just' about it! You can't get away with making sexist comments just because neither of us are girls." Cassius interrupted. "And where to you get to say that 'being an angel is man's work,' you're not even a man! Aren't angels supposed to be genderless beings?"*

Samael glanced down at the skull. "What do you think, Saint Bruno?" He asked it, and sighed sheepishly. "Okay, okay, you have a point. I guess I've spent too much time down here on Earth wrestling guys. Though honestly, now that I think about it, it was a little djinn girl who helped me find Saint Bruno here. The world's changed a lot since I was first down here. Maybe Lilith had a poi-" Abruptly, Samael shut his mouth and went red in the face.

" _LILITH?!_ " Cassius asked in a strangled whisper. Samael shushed him, and beckoned the two djinn further down the remote passage of the catacombs.

"It's supposed to be a secret." He explained miserably. "Father said that if I repented enough and did my penance then my sins would be absolved and I wouldn't have to hang out with Lucifer and his gang."

"Wait, you mean Lilith de Ghulle? That tool who's working for Azazel?" Buck asked, with some considerable confusion.

"No," Samael said gloomily. "Though that's who she's possessing these days, isn't it? No, I mean the Lilith who was the first woman, before Eve. The one who didn't appreciate the way Adam treated her so she left him."

Cassius frowned. "I've heard that story. How do you go from hanging out with Lilith, who was basically the modern feminist from what I've heard, to being... like this?"

Samael smiled wryly. "No, no, I didn't 'hang out' with Lilith. We were in love.* And in those days, feminism didn't exist. Adam wanted someone who would listen to him, but Lilith was having none of it."

"TMI, man." Buck grimaced.

"Look, I made a mistake and I've been trying to make up for it since practically the dawn of time. I'm lucky that I _do_ get a chance to make up for things, since the next angel to cross Father got tossed out of Heaven like trash." The fire was back behind his baby blue eyes.

Cassius pulled out another tissue and wiped his nose systematically. "Look Sam, there are two things we never get to choose. Those are who our parents are, and who we fall in love with." He blew his nose, rather ruining the effect.

Samael bowed his head. "Point taken." He said. "But as for what's going on in Heaven, I'm afraid I'm as out of the loop as you are."

Buck threw his hands up in the air in exaggerated exasperation. "Great. When we _do_ finally find an angel, he's useless. Just great."

"I do know a place where you might be able to get more directions, though." Samael mentioned. Buck's arms froze midair and his dark eyes swiveled to watch the angel carefully.

"Where?" He asked, as Cassius tried unsuccessfully to ward off another sneeze. (Luckily, this time his sleeve took the brunt of it, rather than the ancient skulls that surrounded them.)

Samael smiled. "As long as this little conversation about Lilith stays between us, I'll tell you."

"I didn't think angels were supposed to bargain," Buck frowned, but Cassius nodded.

"Stop making sexist assumptions and it's a deal."

"All right. You want to go to _La Bocca della Verità_. It's in Rome, shouldn't be hard to find. If you go there when no one else is there, he just might talk to you."

Buck turned to Cas. "Sounds like we need to catch a train." He announced.

* * *

 _ **Author's Notes:** Okay, five things: 1) the wine: I have had wine a total of once (besides communion wine from church, but that hardly counts because it's really just Jesus Juice)(religious beliefs are kind of odd sometimes, aren't they?) and it was extremely cheap American wine that grabbed me by the taste buds and made me reconsider my choices in life. It was pretty awful._

 _2) Cas, nicknaming people? Ha! He's terrible at it. In fact, it was John Gaunt_ _who came up with Holly's nickname 'Hol.'_

 _3) Bigotry senses: yes, Cas has those. Are you really surprised?_

 _4) "Genderless beings":_ _This is a tidbit I remember from my days in Catholic grade school. I always found Samael a little bit obnoxious, especially considering this._

 _and 5) "We were in love":_ _I LOOKED SAMAEL UP AND AFTER SIFTING THROUGH A LOT OF "he's the angel of death" (irrelevant considering that I have Azrael doing that job) AND "ooooh he's a fallen angel" (also irrelevant because it never mentions any such thing in canon) I DISCOVERED THAT MAYBE POSSIBLY SAMAEL AND LILITH WERE A THING AT SOME POINT AND IT MAKES ME SO SADISTICALLY HAPPY_

 _Okay, I think that's it for practical notes, other than that, read, review, and have fun! Tune in next week for Chapter 3, where it's back to Holly's birthday!_

 _Bye-bye!_

 _~Lucinda :D_


	4. Chapter 3: Future Plans and Faustina

**Chapter 3: Future Plans and Faustina**

Zoe's three friends were an interesting bunch, Holly decided. There was Olivia Rasmussen, a Jann of Ukrainian descent (her grandmother had such a thick accent, she said, you wouldn't believe it, no one here can understand her) who talked endlessly about numbers and theoretical mathematics, her dark eyes flashing enthusiastically in contrast with her pale face, while Holly nodded politely, remembering why mathematics had never been her best subject.

Next to Olivia sat Therese Bexley, a Marid like Holly and Zoe, who was a soft spoken native of Leicester who had moved to London just last year. From what Holly could gather, Therese was an avid fan of the Bard- who Holly usually just called William Shakespeare, or when she was feeling particularly irreverent, 'Willy Shakes.' Therese, however, had read every single play, sonnet, and poem attributed to the legendary playwright, and she often quoted from them when it pertained to the conversation. Apparently her father had been a professor of Shakespeare studies at the university of Leicester before taking a job in London.

Kassandra Spiros, however, was the loudest one of the bunch, often talking over the rest of them in interesting tidbits of art history, about which she was currently busy writing a scholarly article for some journal that Holly had never heard about. A Greek djinn of the Jann tribe, she'd gotten her wisdom teeth out at age ten, and was therefore the oldest in djinn years (though technically they were all fifteen or sixteen now,) and wasn't shy about reminding the others that she had at least two years' worth of experience on them. Holly didn't really mind so much, since these reminders usually came in fantastic stories of djinn hijinks.

Zoe, seated next to Holly, was quiet. Holly had thought that there was potential for a friendship between her and Zoe last February, but then Azazel had to butt his ugly face in and muck everything up by abducting Zoe's father, Dr. Rocco Moore. Since then, things had been awkward and cautious between them. Holly wondered if Zoe had told any of her friends about the incident before they came to Holly's birthday celebration.

After they were deep into the conversation, as well as the somewhat eclectic but apparently traditional assortment of food (shrimp flambé, crêpes suzette, and birthday cake among them) that Mark and Groanin had prepared, and when no adults were in sight, Kassandra leaned in close to whisper conspiratorially to them.

"So, let's talk future plans. It can be anything. I'll go first. I want to use my powers and my extensive knowledge of art history to recreate or restore ancient ruins. Just imagine, though, the Parthenon in Athens, suddenly like new again, statues of Athena and all! Or the Colosseum made whole again, or the Leaning Tower of Pisa put back straight and looking like new... Just imagine how many archaeologists and historians would cry with happiness!"

"Didn't the ancient Greeks and Romans paint their sculptures in hideously bright colours?" Holly asked. Kassandra smiled thoughtfully.

"You're right. I hadn't thought about that. Maybe not exactly like they were, but at least not crumbling anymore. What about you, Olivia?"

Olivia drew herself up proudly in her chair as she stuffed half a strawberry-filled crêpe into her mouth. "Mathmaffugin," she mumbled through the pastry.

"Olivia, you need to finish chewing before you try to talk." Zoe said gently.

Olivia swallowed and took a sip of tea to wash it down. "I'm going to be a mathematician." She explained. "I'd be a physicist, but I don't really like all the expectations that come with it- like designing stuff, engineering. I'm strictly a numbers gal."

"And your powers?" Kassandra pressed. "Aren't you going to use them?"

"Why would I have to use my powers for my dream job?" Olivia asked, nonplussed. "It's not like I'd be granting wishes right and left." She paused for a beat, thinking. "Though, come to think of it, maybe I'd be the one to finally crack why we djinn have the powers we do. I mean, from what we know already, it _is_ all physics. I wouldn't mind being that sort of theoretical physicist."

"You're always talking about your numbers. Never really thinking about _people._ " Kassandra sighed in a worldly manner. "I suppose it stems from lack of experience."

"We're all the same age, Kassandra." Therese reminded her friend softly.

"Okay, fine. You want to get technical about it, sure. What are you going to do when you're out of the house?"

Therese shrugged. "I'm not sure. I've been playing around with a few ideas. Being an Eremite sounds good, but so does being a Shakespeare scholar. Then again, being a librarian could be fun, too. I don't know."

"You have too many plans, Therese." Zoe observed. Therese blushed.

"I'm sixteen, what do you want from me?"

"You next, Zoe." Kassandra pressed on. "Future plans, go."

Zoe thought for a moment, then shrugged. "Haven't really thought about it." She admitted. "But I like marine biology. I could maybe do something with that."

Kassandra rolled her eyes. "Ugh, you people are insufferable. Okay, Holly, your turn. What do you want to do? Please make it interesting."

Holly looked down at her slice of cake thoughtfully. Truth be told, with all the hysteria and panic that surrounded her everyday life these days, what with Azazel still being on the loose and doubtlessly causing mayhem somewhere, she hadn't given her future career much thought lately.

"Well," she started hesitantly. "I used to want to be a writer or an actress or something like that, but that was before I knew I was a djinn. Now... I don't really know. But I do know that I want to be one of those people who works for peace. I don't think I could be an Eremite ever, but... A diplomat, maybe."

"Holly Godwin?" A crisp American female voice asked from the doorway.

Holly looked up from her tea at the skinny blonde girl in the pale blue pantsuit. She appeared no older than the girls gathered around the table, but her eyes betrayed her: the girl's bright blue eyes were cold and analytical. They reminded Holly of the angel Raphael's eyes, in the way that they seemed to see more when they looked at you.

"Yeah, that's me," Holly replied cautiously. "Who are you?" Olivia elbowed her nervously, as if worried that Holly had offended the newcomer.

"Faustina Sachertorte, Blue Djinn." Faustina introduced herself in a businesslike manner, not seeming offended in the least. "And you're Holly Godwin, Nimrod's daughter and djinn prophet. Good to finally meet you. We have some extremely pertinent matters to discuss. Could you join me for a moment out in the hall? I don't usually make house calls, and I'd like to make this quick."

"Sure." Holly rose from her seat but paused to look at her guests. "I'll be right back."

"Excellent." Faustina said briskly, and backed out into the hallway to wait. Holly glanced around the table, and was met with curious glances and nonplussed shrugs.

Curious herself, she followed the Blue Djinn out into the hall. Abruptly, Faustina turned away from examining the old Chinese vase displayed on the sideboard and fiddled with her pocketbook in a manner that was a good imitation of worry, but obviously an imitation nonetheless.

"I have on good authority that you encountered my little brother Dybbuk a few months ago." She announced, not beating around the bush and getting straight to the point. "I would like to know what he was doing and where he is now."

Holly stared at her blankly for a moment, trying to place the name. Faustina rolled her eyes in a familiar gesture.

"I believe he liked to have people refer to him as 'Buck.'" She explained.

"Oh, _Buck._ " Holly nodded. "Yeah he helped save my life. He went away, though. I only know that he's with my friend Cas."

Faustina frowned. "He wasn't displaying evil tendencies?"

Holly shrugged. "Yes and no. That is, he was until the good part of him got back control. He came back from Purgatory, you know."

"Yes, I had deduced that that was the case." Faustina tutted. "But what I would like to know is where he is. You haven't had any visions or anything, any clue that has been shared with you by the higher powers as to where those two are?"

Holly shook her head. "I've been told to let them be, though. Many times. Repeatedly."

Faustina let out a breathy sigh. "I won't enjoy relaying this information to mother. She'll likely weep some more."

Holly looked down. "Before he left, he said he couldn't talk to your mom until he figured out who he was."

"I suppose that's logical." Faustina admitted grudgingly, as though she didn't want to admit that her troublesome little brother could be logical like her. "And what about your friend Castiel Malone? Is he attempting to self-identify as well?"

"Uh, yeah." Holly nodded, a little taken aback by the odd formal way that Faustina spoke. "There were a whole lot of confusing things going on with both of them back in February."

"Spurred on by Azazel Teer, no doubt." Faustina scowled. "An unpleasant djinn. Something must be done about him at some point. You and yours have had several close conflicts with him, yes?"

"Yes," Holly agreed. "But he always manages to get away somehow."

"He'd be a credit to his tribe if he wasn't half-demon." Faustina observed. "Not to mention that ambition is his downfall, as it is with many of the Ifrit. But I did not come here to gossip about Azazel Teer. I came here to find out the whereabouts of my brother, but as you have no clues for me, it seems I have reached a dead end."

"Not quite. I sent them off with some food for thought." Holly smiled sympathetically.

"What did you tell them?" Faustina asked sharply.

Holly thought back to that terrible moment, when she had watched her best friend wheel his wheelchair down the hall and out into a blizzard. "I told them that the place they were looking for was between a rock and a hard place, and to walk into the sky to seek the stardust on the path to the stars."

Faustina sighed heavily. "Something you relayed from another source, no doubt." She deduced peevishly. "I never did care for such roundabout symbolism."

Holly shrugged. "That's what I told them. What they make of it, I don't know."

"Yes, well, I can't say that speaking with you has been particularly helpful, but it has been illuminating." Faustina told her, then held out her hand, her finger folded across her lifeline as was traditional. "It is reasonable to extrapolate the likelihood that we will be working with each other in the future, Miss Godwin. Perhaps at that time it will not be under such awkward circumstances."

"What awkward circumstances?" Holly asked, bemused, as she shook Faustina's hand in the djinn handshake that Nimrod had taught her so many months ago.

"Happy birthday, Miss Godwin." Faustina said politely, and briskly turned and headed back down the hallway to the front door.

"It was nice meeting you!" Holly called after her. Faustina gave a curt nod without turning around or slowing her pace.

Shrugging again, Holly turned and went back to her party.

* * *

 _ **Author's Notes:** Okay, if Kerr can introduce three completely random characters for the sake of a birthday party and use only one of them as a recurring character, I can too. Also, what on earth is with the traditional djinn birthday meal? I mean... shrimp flambe and crepes suzette? Why are those traditional? WHY? (They are though it's in the 3rd book) Also I found writing Faustina as this coldly logical but also logically emotional character really fun and I really hope I get the opportunity to write her again (possibly with an actual interaction with John? (not like that brush-off in book 5)(I'm really bitter when it comes to these books, lol. You'd think because they're my fave series I'd be like... _ not _bitter, but nah. I like to rant about the sexist/racist/xenophobic/generally misogynistic aspects of these books way too much, as well as all the plotholes and irritating deus ex machina that happens.))_

 _Anyway, next Sunday will be after Christmas! I can't wait for Christmas! At least part of this impatience is because I'm a hopelessly materialistic product of America's capitalist society! Hurray for Christmas! But you know what would be a really great Christmas present? Getting lots and lots of reviews on this story! Anyway, as always my dear readers, read and review, and have a merry Christmas/Holiday season!_

 _Amities,_

 _~Lucinda :)_


	5. Chapter 4: I Cannot Tell A Lie

**Chapter 4: I Cannot Tell A Lie**

The _Bocca della Verità_ or _Mouth of Truth_ in English, is a round mask-like disc weighing approximately 26,400 pounds and is over 2,000 years old. It is one of Rome's tourist attractions, mostly because of its appearance in Audrey Hepburn's 1953 debut film, _Roman Holiday_. Its ancient, bearded face was once used as a lie detector, with the understanding that, should a person put their hand inside the mouth of the disc and then proceed to lie, their hand would be bitten off.*

After sitting on a train for upwards of five hours, Cassius and Buck were grateful to get up and walk again, though Cassius felt a pang of disappointment to find that the grille doors of the cathedral were tightly locked. He checked his watch. 5:47.

"We missed visiting hours." He said deplorably.

"So?" Buck asked. "We wanted to talk to it on our own, didn't we?"

"Yeah, but the doors are locked. Maybe we can get in if we talk to someone-"

"We're djinn, Golden Boy." Buck reminded him, turning effortlessly into pale grey smoke and drifting around the wrought iron bars of the entrance. "Hurry up."

It seemed that Buck had been practicing his powers, at least well enough to pull the smoke trick without using his focus word, something that Cassius hadn't yet managed.

"APOGEOTROPICAL," he mumbled, transforming into smoke the colour of unwanted, low-hanging clouds on a day that was supposed to be sunny.

Once they had returned to their physical forms, Cassius hissed at Buck. "This is wrong, we're breaking and entering a _church_ , we'll be in so much trouble with the _Carabinieri*_ not to mention _God_!"

Buck rolled his eyes. "Loosen up, will you? Did we break anything? No. We're not gonna get into trouble, so _stay quiet_."

"I don't like it." Cassius muttered, still displeased. "It's illegal."

"Oh, please this is nothing. I stole Hermann Goering's poster tube once, that was way more exciting and illegal."

"You did _what_?" Cassius asked, his jaw dropping in a strange mixture of shock and faint admiration.

Buck grinned, but didn't answer. "Down here," was all he said, and led the way down an uneven set of stairs to a dank basement where, looming white like a ghost through the twilit darkness, was the Mouth of Truth.

"Is that really it?" Cassius whispered. It wasn't so much that he had no desire to be caught trespassing, though he certainly didn't, but the empty holes of the worn face held such sternness that Cassius couldn't help but speak in his quietest voice.

"What were you expecting, a severed head?" Buck asked, an eyebrow raised. "Though I admit, that'd be pretty cool."

Cassius looked again at the eerie marble-white face. "So how do you think we get it to talk to us?"

Buck shrugged. "Beats me, I don't have any experience with this sort of thing."

Cas's eyes flicked to the wooden door next to the Mouth of Truth with some apprehension. It could conceivably open at any moment while they were down there. "Uh, I guess we could try just talking to it." He suggested.

"Hey, Mouth of Truth guy, wake up." Buck tried, in the same rude manner that he'd addressed Samael with.

Nothing happened.

"Buck, you have to be more polite when you're talking to things this old," Cassius admonished. He cleared his throat. "Mr. Mouth of Truth? We'd like to talk to you, please."

Still nothing. Cassius frowned, but Buck looked triumphant. "Looks like the polite route is just as ineffective as the rude one, Golden Boy." He said, with some smugness.

"Maybe he doesn't respond to English." Cassius hypothesized. "A thing this old... It would have been made by the old Romans. I could try Latin."

"Like anyone knows Latin-" Buck scoffed, but broke off abruptly when Cassius began to speak in fluent Latin.

" _Ore Veritatis, placeat dic perditus nos._ " Which means, roughly translated, _Mouth of Truth, speak to us please, we're desperate._

A scraping sound came from the Mouth of Truth as the upper lip shifted down and then up again. A raspy voice came from the air, bouncing off of the stone walls of the room it occupied. For a moment, Cassius looked around, certain that the voice must have come from behind them, but when he looked again at the Mouth of Truth, the features had shifted into an angry scowl.

" _Quid vultis gehennam_?" The raspy voice complained. " _Ego vero dormiebat._ "

Cassius and Buck could do nothing but stare at the twisted, angry face of Truth in silence for several long moments. "I guess it worked," Buck said in hushed awe. "Ask him about the thing."

Cassius nodded. " _Numquid et nuntient nobis quaecumque ventura in caelis est?_ " He asked without missing a beat.

The stone scowl deepened. " _Et quid vos postulo scio circa caelum, djinn?_ " The raspy voice returned spitefully. " _Veritas est periculosum._ "

"What is he saying?" Buck asked, his eyes flicking from the stone disc to Cassius, trying to keep his annoyance at not being able to understand anything low key.

Cassius frowned. "He wants to know why I want to know about Heaven, I think. He also says that Truth is dangerous." He bit his lip, trying to think. " _Nos quaerimus veritatem._ " Cassius tried. " _Samael narravit loquar vobiscum venit._ "

" _Non possum offer ductu, djinn, solam veritatem._ " The raspy voice said sternly.

"What is going on?" Buck interrupted again. Cassius frowned.

"I asked him for the truth and I told him that Samael sent us, but he just said that he can't give us guidance, only truth."

"Well ask him where we can actually _find_ guidance." Buck ordered sourly.

Cassius nodded. " _Ubi invenimus ductu ergo?_ " He translated. Slowly, the scowling marble face relaxed its features back into the silent scream.

" _Vero frater est Sophia. Quaerite, et me solum relinquatis._ " The raspy voice said with a definite edge of irritation. Cassius' frown deepened.

"What'd he say?" Buck asked, reading the mood perfectly but choosing to ignore it.

"He said to look for his brother Wisdom and leave him alone."

"We didn't get our answer, though. And while you're at it, ask him why he doesn't speak English."

"Ugh, I _do_ speak English, djinn brat, I just don't like talking to you people day in and day out." The raspy voice spoke up suddenly, in perfect, British-accented English. Both boys jumped. The scowl was back.

"Then why the hell didn't you answer me when I was talking?" Buck demanded, outraged.

If stone discs with holes for eyes could roll their eyes, this one certainly would have done so. "Because usually people go away, and that's the truth. But then I thought to myself as you two chittered away, that it was probably easier to get rid of you if I said something. There, are you happy?"

"No." Buck scowled. "Tell us what we want to know."

"Do you have any idea how _draining_ it is to have a flood of people walking in, day in and day out, sticking their grubby hands in my mouth?"

Buck crossed his arms and leaned back. "No I don't and I don't really care. I thought you were supposed to be some semi-deity with uninhibited knowledge of the truth, not some bitter old man."

"In point of fact you're thinking of the Boca Veritas. Easy mistake, but last I heard he's been holed up in Iravotum for close to a century. He's the one who tells you the truthful answer to any question. I just tell you the hard truths of this world, like the truth that you'll never be as successful as you want to be. Which is true for both of you. You said you wanted to know the truth about yourselves? Here are some truths: You, greasy hair, are never going to get over the fact that your father used you. You'll probably never get over the real reason behind your name: Your mother blames you for her family falling apart. A wicked demon is always to blame for something, don't you think?" The Mouth of Truth watched in spiteful satisfaction as Buck's hand drifted self-consciously up to his drooping bangs. "And you, ponytail boy, you'll never get past your heritage, no matter how hard you try. You'll never be able to have the same relationship to that girl, either. You're irreparably damaged in her eyes, both you and your angelic half."

"Enough." Cassius snapped, making a conscious effort to not touch his shaggy ponytail, a hairstyle he'd started using after his hair became too long to manage properly. "Insulting us won't make us leave."

"True, but it doesn't make it any less fun." The Mouth of Truth said nastily.

Buck glared at it. "You're not the voice of Truth at all, are you?"

"Oh I certainly speak the truth at all times." The raspy voice said pugnaciously. "But if you thought I was an ethereal being with unlimited knowledge that just so happened to speak through this stupid-looking drain cover, you'd be wrong. I'm a djinn, like you both."

"An Ifrit, I bet." Buck muttered.

"Why yes, I am an Ifrit. I used to be quite the prominent Ifrit, before Lady Jahnu bound me in such a manner. She was the Blue Djinn up until a little over one hundred years ago, you know. Lady Jahnu bound my spirit to this rock and compelled my voice to only speak the truth, for five hundred years after my death. Such a deplorable fate to an Ifrit that I resolved to speak as little as possible."

"Have you decided to be helpful yet or are you still inclined to be a snarky loser?" Cassius asked flatly.

"Oh, I'm still inclined to be a snarky djinn, that's for sure. Besides, I already gave you all you needed to be on your way, so scram already. And don't tell anybody I can actually talk, either. Iblis Teer is no one's advice columnist."

Cassius' eyes widened with sudden recognition at the name and slowly he turned his head to look for confirmation from Buck. Buck returned Cas's gaze with a look that purveyed the sense that he'd just smelled something rotten.

In answer to Cas's unasked question, Buck shook his head. "Wrong generation," He explained. "Besides, his voice sounds different."

"To tell the truth, I didn't expect Lady Jahnu's binding to attack me after she was dead. I mean, she died five decades before I did. Although I suppose she did have a knack for occult bindings. Dreadful waste for a Shaitan like her to become Blue Djinn, if you ask me. She could have done so much evil, even after her death."

"Whatever, we're leaving now." Buck announced, dragging Cassius by the sleeve of his jacket back the way they had come.

"Really? Delightful. I hate talking to people, even if they are my grandsons-" The voice caught its breath and Cassius and Buck froze guiltily.

" _Crap,_ " Buck muttered.

"My _grandsons_?!" Iblis Teer Sr. screeched with obvious disgust and outrage. "These two... _pansies_ are my _grandsons_?!"

"Looks like he didn't actually know," Cassius observed. "That truth binding is something, huh?"

"This would _never_ have happened if I'd been alive!" Iblis Sr. swore. "What the hell did Junior and Dimme do wrong? These two talk like... like... _good_ djinn!"

Footsteps came from somewhere beyond the wooden door. Buck pulled again on Cassius' sleeve. "Let's jet, Golden Boy," he urged, flashing an irreverent middle finger Iblis Sr.'s way. "See you never, gramps."

"It was nice meeting you," Cassius lied, waving to the still lamenting Mouth of Truth, even as he and Buck began to transform into pale grey smoke.

" _UGH and that one adheres to social niceties!_ " Echoed Iblis Sr.'s voice before Cassius and Buck drifted out of the window to the dusk of the cobblestone street outside.

"We didn't get any direction." Cassius pointed out with disappointment after they'd transubstantiated back into themselves.

"Sure we did." Buck grinned.

"We- _ah... ah..._ \- did?" Cassius asked, forcibly holding in another sneeze while he fished around in his pocket for the tissues.

"Sure. Before he started being all rude and stuff, he told us to go talk to Wisdom, right?"

"That's an actual thing?" Cassius asked, nonplussed.

"Yep." Buck smirked. "It's in Jerusalem."

"Great. More traveling." Cassius groused, and sneezed into his sleeve.

"Hey, my hair isn't _that_ greasy, is it?" Buck asked, an insecure hand drifting up again to his black bangs.

Cassius grimaced apologetically. "Next time we have access to running water, you may want to wash it."

* * *

 ** _Author's Notes:_** _...Aaand Iblis Teer makes his debut! Wait, what do you mean, "not_ that _Iblis?" What other Iblis could you possibly want to show up?_

 _Trolling aside, sorry for the late update, I was kinda distracted on Sunday mostly with the afterglow of Christmas gifts still taking hold of me. Lots of brand-new video games just waiting to be played, etc. etc. What can I say but, here it is, a day late?_

 _And now to business, the asterisks:_

 _1) It (the Boca della Verita) is not, despite the similarity in names, the same Boca Veritas (roughly: Mouth (Spanish) of Truth (Latin)) that Philippa Gaunt encountered roughly four years prior in Iravotum._

 _2) The_ Carabinieri _are the Italian police_

 _Also, pardon my rather sloppy Latin as I have never studied it and therefore used google translate for the following lines of dialogue:_

 _"What the hell do you want?"_

 _"I was sleeping"_

 _"Could you tell us what's going on with Heaven?"_

 _"And just why do you need to know anything about Heaven, djinn?"_

 _"We seek the truth."_

 _"Samael told us to talk to you."_

 _"I cannot offer guidance, djinn, only truth."_

 _"Where can we find guidance?"_

 _"Go to my brother Wisdom. Seek him out and leave me alone."_

* * *

 _As always, read and leave me a review, and I'll see you again in 2016!_

 _~Lucinda_


	6. Chapter 5: Mark Takes a Tumble

_tw (?): Accidental concussion_

 **Chapter 5: Mark Takes a Tumble**

Holly entered the room to find all four girls whispering to each other. Zoe was the first to notice Holly's reappearance, and elbowed Kassandra, who elbowed Therese, who elbowed Olivia. They all turned to Holly with bright eyes.

"What did the Blue Djinn want to talk to you about?" Kassandra asked, with deliberate politeness.

Holly shrugged and made her way back to her chair. Momentarily, she locked eyes with Zoe.

"It was about Dybbuk, right?" Zoe asked quietly, picking up on Holly's strain of thought.

"His name is Buck." Holly corrected. "'Dybbuk' is a cruel name to give to anybody, let alone someone who struggles everyday to overcome his evil self."

Therese, strangely out of character, snorted, her pale blue eyes flashing. "So it's true then? The Blue Djinn's baby brother _is_ half Ifrit? Some excuse."

"Therese, not everyone has your control-" Zoe started cautiously.

"It's not that difficult to be a good person!" Therese ranted exasperatedly. "What the hell does 'bad' and 'good' mean to djinn, anyway? Who cares if we're born to a certain tribe? That doesn't mean we have to blindly do evil or good. We can manipulate luck, why not make our own destinies?"

Talk of Buck seemed to have struck a nerve, and Therese was hardly recognizable as the quiet girl who liked Shakespeare.

Holly was somehow reminded of Dimme Teer when she looked at Therese Bexley, though the two looked nothing alike, Therese had the same sort of sensible rage about her when presented with hypocrisy.

She threw up her hands. "My mother was a Shaitan, but you don't see me running around tripping mundanes right and left for the fun of it!"

"Therese, we know." Olivia said pragmatically, but Therese wasn't finished. She pointed at Holly directly.

"You ought to know. You're best friends with an Ifrit. A half-demon, too. We're bigger than destiny. I don't care if you're a prophet who can see into the future, _I don't believe in destiny._ "

"I'm not knocking your beliefs." Holly said quietly. "I believe you that people, including djinn, aren't born bad or good."

The rest of the table was silent for a few moments. Even Kassandra seemed at a loss for words.

"Good." Therese said at length. "This is lovely cake, by the way."

"Thank you." Holly nodded with great dignity. "My brother made it."

* * *

The party ended in the same somewhat awkward silence once the five djinn girls had finished their tea. Politely, they rose in unison and took turns clasping Holly's hands and expressing identical polite sentiments of _happy birthday_.

Holly thanked each of them in turn and watched as they trooped out of the front door to their parents' waiting cars, or in the case of Kassandra, her own car.

Once her guests were gone and driving away, Holly shut the front door and gave a long sigh, only to jolt with surprise when she found Mark leaning against the wall next to the doorframe.

"Didn't quite go as expected, huh?" He asked knowingly.

Holly looked down at her older brother tiredly. "It's that obvious?" She asked, wondering when exactly she'd gotten taller than him.

He reached up and patted her on the lion print hijab. "Well, yeah. Besides, you still obviously miss Cas."

"True." Holly admitted with a sigh. "I'm not even sure if I can open the present he sent me."

"It's your birthday, kiddo." Mark said, as though that changed everything. "I don't know how he knew, but he sent you a present because he cares about you. You owe it to him to open it."

"I guess you're right. Where did it get to, anyway?"

"I think it's still on the table, isn't it? Let's go open it now."

Mark led the way back to the dining room, where most of Holly's opened presents- a new violin from Mark, several books from Nimrod, video games from John and Philippa, clothes and jewelry from Alexandra, a slim volume of British poetry from Groanin- were still lying among the crumpled red and gold wrapping paper. Together, Holly and Mark cleared away the discarded wrappings in search of the little green striped package from Cassius. Finally she found it, half hidden behind a hefty black statuette of an Egyptian cat she'd received from Nimrod.

She pulled the little box out onto the clear area of the table and began to cautiously unstick the tape holding the wrapping paper on.

Inside of the wrapping paper was a softly gleaming polished wooden box with a carved bird glaring at her from the lid. Gingerly, Holly lifted the lid and looked at the contents: a folded letter and a long, thin wooden pipe with a straight shaft and an inverted bell-shaped bowl.

"A _pipe_?!" Mark bristled indignantly. Holly waved him away.

"Smoking is only bad for humans, Mark. Besides, I'm sixteen, I can't buy tobacco yet."

"In _America_ ," Mark sputtered. "Who knows what goes on here!"

Holly ignored him and reached for the letter, opening the brittle, parchment paper carefully.

 _Dear Holly,_ She read, _I know this is kind of weird, your birthday being in April, but I was told it was the 14th for sure. Buck and I are doing fine (he says hi, by the way,) and we're already pretty far from London. I know you're probably busy, but I have some info about Azazel. Well, I know what person can defeat him, but Nimrod's not going to like it one bit. Honestly Buck didn't like it either, but we agreed that if it was possible, we'd take the lesser evil._

 _The djinn's name is Iblis Teer. He used to be the leader of the Ifrit- biologically speaking, he's my uncle and Buck's father, but from the tales Buck tells me, he's not much of either. He is, however, capable of diminuendo bindings so strong they're virtually unbreakable. You remember that John and Philippa told us that he'd been bound inside a jade sarcophagus? I know it's your birthday and everything, but this is really important. Be careful, Iblis is a dangerous djinn, almost as bad as Azazel._

 _I hope you like the pipe I got for you. Happy birthday, Hol._

 _~Cas_

Holly's eyes moistened a little while reading the letter, but she retained her pragmatic mind. She remembered hearing about Iblis Teer from a number of sources: First from John and Philippa when they'd told Holly all about their fantastic adventures as djinn, then again from Buck, whose thoughts about his biological father were mostly scornful and justifiably loathing. She'd heard tales of the wicked Ifrit's ambition clouding his judgement, his thirst for revenge losing him his body, and knew that Cassius' plan had _bad idea_ written all over it. Still though, if there was even the remotest chance that it was actually possible to defeat Azazel, then that chance was worth investigating.

"What's it say?" Mark asked curiously, trying to peer over Holly's shoulder without much success. Holly hugged the letter to herself protectively.

"Birthday wishes." She said secretively. She wasn't sure if she ought to tell Mark-or anyone, for that matter- quite yet about what Cassius had suggested she do.

Mark hovered uncertainly at her elbow. "Well as long as you don't actually smoke that thing."

"I told you already that smoking is _good_ for me. It's terrible for you humans, but that's because you're not made of fire like us djinn."

Mark gave her a little shove as Holly tucked the letter and the pipe back into the wooden box. "Don't talk like that, it's annoying and it sounds elitist." He scolded her. "Come on, I'll help you carry all this stuff upstairs."

He scooped up some of the heavier presents: Holly's new fiddle, the cat statuette, and an armful of books.

"Oh, thanks." Holly gathered up the bundle of new clothes, jewelry, and video games and led the way through the hallways to the back stairwell.

"So is Cas okay?" Mark asked in an effort to make conversation.

"It sounds like it. Buck, too." Holly nodded, starting up the stairs.

"That's good. He say when they were coming back?"

Holly's shoulders drooped a little. "No," she admitted. "But it's not their fault. So much has happened to them that they lost themselves."

"Hey, they're going to come back, kiddo. Cas promised you, didn't he?" Mark told her comfortingly. After a pause, he changed the subject. "Have you told Alexandra yet that my great-grandfather was here?"

Holly sighed. "I haven't had the heart-" she started, but broke off abruptly when Mark gave an alarmed yell. She turned around just in time to see Mark's foot slip off of the step and fall backwards, as if in slow motion, though in reality he fell too quickly for Holly to even bring her focus word to the front of her mind.

He landed sprawling at the bottom of the stairs, still clutching Holly's new violin as if it were his most precious treasure. Holly could already see the nasty lump swelling up on his head as, dazed, he started to sit up.

Holly tossed her armload of gifts up the stairs to the landing and hurried down to her brother's side.

"Nimrod?! Mr. Groanin! Mum!" She shouted, steadying Mark as he swayed, stunned. "Someone get over here or call 999! Mark fell and I think he's concussed!"

As if she'd teleported there, Alexandra came fairly sprinting around the corner. "Holly! Holly, what is it?" She asked. Nimrod came hurrying after her, followed, after a few tense moments, by a very out of breath Groanin.

"Did I hear correctly?" Nimrod asked urgently, looking down at Mark, sitting on the floor. "He has a concussion?"

"I called 999, young miss, an ambulance should be on its way shortly." Groanin nodded.

Holly smiled gratefully at the butler, and turned her attention back to Mark. "Well, he fell down the stairs..." She explained, and pointed to the fresh lump on Mark's head. "And look at that!"

"Holly, I'm fine. It's just a little bump on the head." He tried to wave her away and rubbed his temples. "I just need some help getting to my feet."

Holly took one hand and Groanin took another, and they helped Mark stand. Immediately, however, he stumbled to the side and caught himself on the wall.

Holly looked to her parents. "Can't either of you fix him?" She asked pleadingly.

Alexandra looked uncertain, but Nimrod shook his head definitely. "I'm sorry, Holly, no. We don't know exactly what's wrong with Mark, and it's highly dangerous to use djinn power on head injuries, even when you do know the problem. It can result in any number of things: loss of mental acuity, change of personality, even death. No, it's best we just wait for an ambulance so that the brain specialists at the hospital can find out what's wrong with him, if anything."

"Nothing's..." Mark protested weakly, but his voice slurred to a stop as he slid down the wall.

Holly bit her nails with worry.

* * *

 _ **Author's Notes:** Well at least this one is on time. And we have our first casualty with Mark. Oops. The most I can say is I do actually have a bit of a reason for getting him out of action, and you'll see in a couple of chapters what that reason is. Plus it's not like he's out of the story forever or anything. Probably more interesting to you readers is the delightful fodder for Holly's Bad Decision introduced here. (Namely: introducing the idea that Iblis Could Possibly Return) :)_

 _Until that time, though, have patience, read, and review!_

 _Happy 2016!_

 _~Lucinda_


	7. Chapter 6: That Ribbon of Skyway

**Chapter 6: That Ribbon of Skyway**

"I swear that whirlwinds didn't used to be this hard to control," Buck said as he and Cassius plunged downwards towards the stunningly blue depths of the Mediterranean Sea below.

Cassius frowned. "Maybe it has something to do with the fact that your powers aren't the same as they were and you overestimated yourself." He quipped.

"Yeah, but a whirlwind is the fastest way to Jerusalem." Buck argued. In the dying light, it was difficult to see him properly. "And anyway, you have a cold. The minute you sneeze, _your_ whirlwind would evaporate instantly! Besides, you're a novice."

Cas's frown deepened. "Maybe, but I know how to make a whirlwind."

"It'll be the size of a pincushion." Buck predicted sardonically.

Cassius scowled at his cousin and endeavoured to concentrate. "APOGEOTROPICAL!" He yelled into the rushing air around him, digging his heels into the wind and willing to control it.

Sure enough, a funnel of air whipped itself around the two djinn boys in a spiral, howling and snapping at their heels like a half-wild dog. Cassius poured every ounce of his somewhat muddled mind into controlling it. The wind quieted and blew them away, back on track to Jerusalem.

"Very funny." Buck groused, and Cassius looked over at him. Somehow he'd managed to be caught upside-down, and his aviator's jacket and knapsack were practically falling off his skinny shoulders. With a grunt, Buck flipped himself right-side up again, and pulled his beanie cap lower on his head, over his ears.

"So what did you think of Iblis Senior?" Cassius asked, to make conversation but also because he was genuinely curious.

Buck scoffed. "Every bit as dumb as the rest of the Ifrit. He probably got what was coming to him, honestly."

"Probably." Cassius agreed. "Though meeting him made me think a bit: if he's my grandfather on my mother's side, that means that God Himself is my other grandfather."

"Wait, really?" Buck thought for a moment, then burst out laughing. "No, you're right! Holy hell, that explains why you're Golden Boy, doesn't it?"

Cassius smiled wryly, pleased that he'd been able to make his cousin laugh. "Well, don't congratulate me quite yet. Dear old dad was a rebel, if you remember. A big boss-type demon."

Buck rolled his eyes. "More interesting than my mom. She and her dad were both djinn doctors, but mom took a more modern approach than Grandpa." Buck paused a minute, reflecting. "For a Marid, he sure was a mean old coot. I guess it's just because he knew who my real father was. Grandma helped mellow him out, though."

Cassius shrugged. "You should have seen how Holly's granddad reacted when he thought I was my father. Don't blame yourself."

"He tried to kill you, right?"

Cassius laughed, though his voice was tense enough to snap like a guitar string. "That he did. I probably would have died if Dimme hadn't shown up when she did. At least, I think she was the reason Dr. Godwin stopped. I couldn't really tell much and I blacked out pretty much immediately."

"Oh, well that makes you an expert." Buck rolled his eyes.

"You've never blacked out? Not even once?"

"Well... I've been knocked out a couple of times." Buck admitted sheepishly. "Fights and whatever."

Cassius looked out into the darkening sky pensively as they flew towards Jerusalem. "You ever wonder if all of this," He gestured vaguely at the dark around them, "Is nothing but the concoction of someone else's mind? Like we're just characters in someone's story?"

As if in response to this rather muddled musing, the whirlwind shook violently. Flailing for his life, Buck punched Cassius in the shoulder.

"Pay attention, Golden Boy, you're gonna get us both tossed to our deaths!" Buck yelled, a note of strangled panic cracking his voice. Cassius inhaled through his stuffy nose, a long, wheezing sort of noise, and tried to get his aching head to focus.

The whirlwind sprang to attention immediately, its stray threads spinning back together neatly. "So where exactly in Jerusalem are we going, anyway?" Cassius asked, his eyes watering with a half-formed sneeze.

"There's this church in the old city that has this pie-looking thing. We went there in February to try and track down someone to help her with that fever thing. I think it's called the Omphalos or something. Holly said that it's the place where djinn like us can talk to the immortal voice of Wisdom. She also said that she had tea with it."

Cassius' eyelids drooped. "Tea sounds good right now. Might help with my congestion..."

Buck punched him in the shoulder again. "Pay attention, wet wipe!" He ordered preemptively. "Didn't that levitator do anything?"

Cassius shrugged. "I can't really tell. It's been awhile since I was actually sick like this." He frowned. "Come to think of it, I don't think I've gotten sick since my wisdom teeth came in."

"And this is relevant how?" Buck asked, already feeling bored. "Let us down somewhere inconspicuous. I don't like people staring at me just because I'm a djinn."

"When did you get so self-conscious?" Cassius asked conversationally. "You don't really strike me as the shy kind of guy."

Buck looked away, into the twilight horizon. "You remember how I told you to call me Jonathan back when I was a ghost?" He asked carefully.

"Sorta. I don't know if it's the cold or whatever, but all my memories seem kinda fuzzy." Cassius confessed.

"Yeah, well, that was a stage name I used when I was thirteen. Jonathan Tarot. I was pretty much world-famous."

Cassius looked at his cousin curiously. "Yeah? Never heard of you. What did you do?"

Buck continued to avoid eye contact. "I was a street magician. A lousy one. It's the reason I lost my powers to begin with."

"You used your djinn powers for street magic?" Cassius asked, trying his best not to laugh. Luckily for him, laughter sounded more like haggard coughs, so Buck didn't notice.

"Yeah, it was stupid, but it's not like it was my idea to begin with. It was part of Iblis' shitty plan to screw with the world." Buck tried to ignore the angry tears welling up in his eyes, and he was quite grateful that Cassius also pretended to not notice them.

"Well then you can't exactly be held liable, can you?" Cassius asked comfortingly. Buck shook his head.

"I was the one who didn't see it coming. I was the one who insisted on those dumb Elvis jumpsuits, and I was the one who used my power all up. It might have been my shitty dad's plan, but I walked right into it."

"Yeah, well now he's gone and you're back. You got your powers and everything, and where's Iblis? Trapped in some tomb somewhere?" Cassius gave a curt laugh that surprised even him with its ruthlessness. "Screw Iblis. And the rest of those Teers. We're not like them."

Buck nodded. "You got a point, Golden Boy." He paused. "God's grandson." He grinned, teasingly.

Cassius swatted him away. "Ah, shut it, Tarot." He shot back, his laughter vanishing into more coughing. "Jerusalem is coming up, where should I let us down?"

Buck peered past Cassius into the night below that was littered with lights, like stars blinking below them.

"There, I think that's the old city." He pointed to a dark section of the city, then glanced sidelong at Cassius. "Are you alert enough to protect yourself from bombs and whatever?"

"Of course I am," Cassius said indignantly. "I'm flying this whirlwind, aren't I?"

"Yeah, and we've almost crash-landed twice." Buck reminded him, and sighed. "I guess I'll just have to pay extra attention and make sure you stick with me."

"What's that supposed to mean, I'm incompetent or something?" Cassius asked defensively, lowering the whirlwind bit by bit as they approached the dark Old City.

Buck, obnoxiously, didn't answer and instead remained silent as they achieved a touchdown silent enough to rival ninjas. Buck peered through the moonlit streets, searching for some sense of familiarity. "I... think it's this way..." He said uncertainly, creeping with a considerable amount of hesitation to the end of the alley they had landed in.

Cassius rolled his eyes and tugged his phone out of his pocket. "You're lucky I get international coverage," he muttered, and typed _Jerusalem Omphalos_ into the search bar. Within moments, he had gotten directions to the Church of the Holy Sepulchre. It wasn't terribly far from where they were now.

"Buck," he hissed, "Buck I found it." He looked up. Buck was nowhere to be seen. "Oh, fantastic." Cassius griped aloud. "This is exactly what I needed."

He didn't notice the shadow detach itself from the wall and follow him down the alley as he hurried after Buck.

* * *

 _ **Author's Notes:** So I've been on break for the past month and have gotten a grand total of four lines written since the semester ended, but I'm going back tomorrow and maybe, just maybe, I'll finish this monstrosity before Easter. Probably not, though. In other news, Grandpa God FTW. Thank you, that is all._

 _Read and review!_

 _~Lucinda_


	8. Chapter 7: Smoke From the Lamp

**Chapter 7: Smoke from the Lamp**

"I'm his next of kin," Alexandra insisted icily, glaring at Nimrod with steel ingrained in her big brown eyes.

"What about me?" Holly protested, hovering by the open front door as she watched the paramedics load Mark into the ambulance.

"Holly, dear, I don't want this to spoil your birthday." Alexandra said, her tone of voice shifting warmly as she turned her attention to Holly. "It won't do to have you waiting around in an emergency ward on your sixteenth birthday."

"She's right, kiddo!" Mark called from the gurney. One of the paramedics shushed him.

"But he's my cook," Nimrod said uncertainly, laying a hand protectively on his daughter's shoulder.

"He's my brother's great-grandson." Alexandra reminded Nimrod, all the ice returning to her voice in full force. "Something you didn't bother to find out and didn't know until I told you two months ago."

"I suppose you have a point." Nimrod admitted grudgingly.

"Of course I do." Alexandra told him haughtily, and swept up her skirts daintily to step into the back of the ambulance. "Try to enjoy yourself the rest of today, Holly dear." She called, waving an elegant hand from out of the ambulance door.

"Ma'am, please," another of the paramedics entreated, and Alexandra pouted, but withdrew her hand.

Holly watched as the ambulance doors snapped shut and the vehicle trundled away down the drive.

"Well," Nimrod coughed, a hint of awkwardness tinging his voice. "Your mother has a point, Holly. We shouldn't let this accident cast a shadow over your birthday celebration."

Holly shrugged Nimrod's hand off of her shoulder. "It's already over." She said halfheartedly. "I'm going to my room."

"Ah... oh. Well, just one more thing, then." Nimrod coaxed, as if uncertain how exactly to proceed.

Holly looked at him with tired, unenthusiastic eyes. "What?" She asked. Nimrod smiled tremulously and motioned that Holly should follow him. She stepped inside the front door, waiting as Nimrod closed it behind them, and then followed her father as he led her through the twisting hallways of the first floor to his library office.

"I meant to give this to you a long time ago, but you know, one thing and another." Nimrod explained, snapping on the lights with a slightly dramatic flourish.

"What, another book?" Holly asked listlessly, wanting nothing more than to bury her face in a pillow for the next few hours.

"No, indeed." Nimrod smiled mysteriously, easing back into the more comfortable role of 'fun parent.' He went to his desk, opened a drawer, and with a great flourish, pulled out a silver oil lamp and presented it to her.

Holly tilted her head to one side. "It's a... lamp." She said blankly. Nimrod nodded, his face glowing with anticipation.

"Indeed. Your first lamp, I believe." He agreed. Holly tilted her head the other way.

"It's... shiny." She said at length.

Nimrod's smile flickered slightly. "It's made of real Ottoman silver," he explained, as if that meant something. "And I've decorated the interior myself, I hope to your liking. If no, then you can always change it yourself."

"Oh," Holly said, taking the lamp gingerly from Nimrod with both hands. And then, as if feeling the weight of it in her grip somehow showed her what it meant, her eyes widened with comprehension. " _Ohh,_ " She repeated, dragging the word out as she nodded. "I get it. Um... wow, thanks, Nimrod."

Nimrod smiled benignly. "There we are, at last thinking outside of the proverbial mundane box. I can see that this past winter has been a long one for you, hasn't it?"

Holly nodded. "Yeah, it seemed to go on for years." She smiled. Then the smile faded as she remembered everything that had happened in the winter. "Years and years." She muttered, as if to herself. Then she cleared her throat and smiled up at Nimrod, who, unlike Mark, was taller than Holly, though admittedly not by very much. "Thank you again." She nodded politely, and turned to head back to the back staircase, where most of her birthday presents had been abandoned after Mark's fall. Before she walked through the doorway, however, she paused.

"What is it, Holly?" Nimrod asked, sensing a question coming his way.

"Have you..." Holly began, but almost immediately trailed off, as if the courage to ask the question had drained away from her as soon as she spoke.

"Have I what?" Nimrod coaxed curiously.

Holly turned to face him. "Have you told mum about Uncle Magnus's ghost yet?"

Nimrod looked guilty. "No, I haven't had the heart, though I suspect she knows that I'm keeping something from her. Your uncle didn't speak to her at all when he was back, you know, but when they were young, your mother and Magnus were practically inseparable."

"Oh, I see."

"It took her years to bring herself past his death," Nimrod continued in a melancholy tone, sitting down on the settee and puffing away at his cigar. "Years and you, I believe, were what helped her move on."

"He left me a message for her, you know." Holly said softly, though Nimrod was already deep into his monologue.

"He died sixteen years ago, come this August. Not a week after I'd heard about it, Alexandra showed up on my doorstep, all tears and-" His face, quite suddenly, turned as red as his tie. " _Oh_."

Holly took a step backwards, sensing that she really didn't want to be present for whatever admission Nimrod was about to share.

"I suppose that might explain a few things," He muttered to himself. "I can't believe that actually slipped my mind."

"Oh my great grapes." Holly closed her eyes and grimaced, disgusted. "Stop. No. I don't want to hear any more. _Eughh_."

"I wasn't going to say anything," Nimrod insisted, his face still as red as a cherry tomato. "I just..."

"Nope. Bye-bye. I'm gone." Holly hurried out of the library with great haste, and fairly ran up the stairs and into her room, pausing only to scoop up the pile of presents that had been abandoned at the bottom of the stairs by Mark after he'd slipped. When she reached her bedroom and tossed the presents rather incautiously onto her bed, Holly shut the door and leaned against it, thinking.

Everything that happened these days seemed to be her fault. Intellectually, she knew that it wasn't because of her that Cassius had to leave, it wasn't because of her that her parents seemed to be getting along more terribly than ever before, and it wasn't because of her that Mark had gotten his concussion.

But still, she was caught in the middle, and it made her feel as though she ought to shoulder the blame. Despite being a prophet, she hadn't ever managed to do anything substantial- heck, in their last adventure she'd been sick the whole time! If she could just get rid of Azazel, just find a way to get him out of the picture once and for all, then the world would be safe, wouldn't it? Cas would be safe, wouldn't he?

Her eyes drifted to the little wooden box that held the pipe and the letter. After all, he _had_ gone to the trouble of sending her a birthday present on her newly discovered birthday. And she trusted Cas, no matter the form, implicitly. Maybe there was something to this Iblis character that could help her.

"What's wrong?" Came a quiet voice by her elbow. Holly yelped and nearly toppled over, but caught her balance at the last moment.

"Casca!" She seethed. "Don't scare me like that! At least knock or something, geez!" Holly clutched her heart, her fingers working their way around the chain of the golden crucifix.

Casca smiled serenely. "Sorry about that. How was your birthday? Were you surprised?"

Holly sighed, but smiled at her friend. "It was okay. You know, except for the part where Mark fell down the stairs and got a concussion. Actually, before that happened it was pretty... interesting. The Blue Djinn came to chat about Buck, and Zoe's friends seem pretty nice. I'm not sure about that Therese girl, though, I think she's got some damage. She went off on this long rant about blood relations not dictating your morality or something. Which, granted, she has a point."

Casca nodded. "She does indeed." He smiled. "Anything else? I'm sorry to hear about Mark, by the way."

"Yeah..." Holly's eyes flicked once more to the wooden box. "Cassius sent me something."

Casca's eyebrows shot up curiously. "Really? That's odd, I wonder how he found out about your birthday. The only reason I knew was because Gabriel told me."

Holly was momentarily outraged. "Jib told you my real birthday but he didn't tell me?!"

Casca shrugged sheepishly. "He wanted it to be a surprise. He sends his salutations, by the way. What did Cassius get you?"

"Hm? Oh, a pipe. A pipe and some information." Holly walked over to her bed and opened the little wooden box, pulling out the Nepalese pipe and sticking it between her teeth before handing the letter over to Casca.

He read the letter first, carefully, squinting at the page as though he suspected it of petty theft. Then his green eyes looked up and smiled at Holly's pipe. "It's certainly a nice pipe." He admitted. "Do you want something to smoke in it?" He reached into his pocket and pulled out an old tin of Prince Albert Tobacco.

"Ooh, neat!" Holly smiled, and accepted the tobacco eagerly. "Thanks, Cas, I really needed a smoke. So what do you think about this whole Iblis thing?"

Casca looked again at the letter. "I have... misgivings, but one thing is true enough: Iblis Teer certainly has the requisite power to subdue Azazel with a diminuendo, if we manage to catch Azazel off guard, that is."

Holly stuffed a bit of the tobacco into the bell of her pipe and looked around for matches or a lighter. Remembering she had none, she ignited the tip of her forefinger instead and used that to light her pipe. She took a deep breath in, relishing the feeling of smoke filling her lungs, warming her cold bones. "But it's possible, right? And if we free Iblis, he'll owe us and help get rid of Azazel once and for all, right?"

Casca frowned thoughtfully. "Maybe. Ifrit are generally a shifty lot, Holly. It won't do to go into this half-baked."

"Hey, this isn't weed, is it?" Holly waved her smoldering pipe around, smiling. "No baking involved. I just want to do something about Azazel. I'm tired of letting him prance around and do as he pleases."

"Now that we can agree on." Casca nodded. "I'll ask around Upstairs, but you should prepare yourself for a journey in the meantime."

Holly puffed on her pipe and nodded. "Will do. Good luck."

Casca smiled again, and vanished with a soft fluttering of wings, leaving the letter to float down to the carpeted floor as Holly searched for her battered old red suitcase.

* * *

 ** _Author's Notes:_** _Cas' Granddad, Nimrod what is your problem? Even I was horrified at the implication you're insinuating here, smh._

 _Anyway, hope you enojoyed this week's chapter and be sure to leave me a review! :)_

 _~Lucinda_


	9. Chapter 8: Tough Advice To Take

**Chapter 8: Tough Advice to Take**

"Is that thing really it?" Cassius asked in a hushed voice as he knelt on a hassock. Buck rolled his eyes.

"Yes, that's really the _Omphalos_. I know it looks weird, but that's it."

Cassius frowned at the pie-looking stone sculpture for a few moments before speaking again. "You want to go, or should I?"

Buck hesitated before answering. "I... You should go." He decided.

"Are you sure? I don't really know what I'm doing and I'm still kind of out of it..." As if to prove his point, Cassius lapsed into a fit of coughing, each cough making him gasp for air and his breath rattling alarmingly.

Buck couldn't meet his eyes. "You'll be fine, it's an out-of-body thing. Just go."

Cassius looked at his cousin for a beat, trying to get a read on his expression. "Okay," He nodded. "If you think so, I'll go. Keep an eye on my body, okay?"

"Sure." Buck muttered, an*d as he heard Cassius mumble

"APOGEOTROPICAL," under his breath, he glanced over at Cassius' slightly slumped and now unoccupied body that knelt as though in prayer. Maybe he was; after all, Golden Boy was essentially God's grandson, why shouldn't he pray?

He wasn't like Buck. Cassius hadn't seen evil lurking within himself. Buck still remembered those distant days, three years ago when he'd been thirteen- when he'd started noticing his soul becoming tarnished, noticing that there was nothing he could do about it because he was the son of the most notorious Ifrit out there. And when he'd been crushed- literally _crushed_ \- by his evil side and sent to purgatory, he'd given up all hope. Death had been simple then. Easy to accept. It wasn't like he hadn't been seriously considering suicide before, since he'd lost his powers. What was the point of being a djinn if you couldn't even turn into smoke? He hadn't wanted to live without power, but somehow he'd gotten dragged back into the land of the living. Somehow he'd regained what he'd lost, but at what cost?

True he had wished his evil self out of existence, but why then did he feel so uneasy all the time? Why then did he not trust himself to leave his body?

Maybe he was afraid. That could be it: he'd spent time as a ghost and had no desire to go back to that state. But being in his own body now felt somehow... somehow as if he was wearing a glove that no longer fit. When he came back as a ghost, he still felt like he was thirteen years old, despite three years having gone by without him. And this body- _his_ body, Buck had to remind himself,- was sixteen now, but he didn't feel like he was sixteen. He felt like he'd been forced to grow up in a hurry, that he'd been cheated out of three years that he could have spent like any teenager- having fun, hanging out with friends, going to high school.

Buck leaned back and looked up at the high ceilings illuminated sparsely by candles that made the many shadows dance eerily. He'd always felt like he didn't belong. He'd always felt like he was doing something wrong, just by existing.

And the root of that matter was... well, if he was honest with himself, the problem was his mother.

She was his mother and he knew she loved him, just as he knew he loved her, but things had always been... off between them. The first argument with her that he could remember had happened around the time when he was six, and it was about his name. He'd just discovered the meaning of it and wanted so badly to change it because _he wasn't like a dybbuk, not at all why are you always so mean to me_. Everything came back to that hateful name: _Dybbuk_. Who would name their child after a wicked demon? Well, who besides the Ifrit?

His name was how he knew that Jenny Sachertorte had always resented him, no matter how much she might say that she loved him. Iblis Teer Senior had been telling the truth, as far as that went.

Even when he started going by Buck in an effort to change his image, even just a little, his mother had never called him that. It was always "Dybbuk is troublesome when he has too much salt," and "Dybbuk is a troubled boy," and never once had she asked him "Buck, what's going on?"

If Jenny Sachertorte had even once asked him that, she would have gotten an honest answer, Buck knew it.

He would have told her about the terrible guilt he had felt when Mr. Sachertorte had divorced Jenny: even then, Buck had known that that rift had been caused by him. He would have told her about how, even then, the murders of his friend Brad and his father Mr. Blennerhassit haunted him. He would have told his mother that he was scared to death of falling into the path that his father had tread, the path of unquestionable evil. He would have told her that he was most scared of the idea that she, his own mother, didn't love him.

But Jenny Sachertorte had never asked him any such questions, and Buck was certainly not willing to initiate such conversation without some sort of catalyst, so he remained silent: which was as much his fault as it was Jenny's.

Buck pulled back on Cassius' ponytail as his head began to droop forward and sighed. What was it that was keeping him from doing as he wished? He had power, certainly. The Pachacuti ritual was to thank for that, he supposed. It may have been terribly dangerous and radioactive, but it had somehow restored his lost power, even if that power wasn't quite the same as it had been. And when he'd been in the reaches of his own mind, in that strange rainforest-like place that both was and wasn't Paititi, he'd wished his evil self out of existence, right?

So why did he feel so scared of it still?

* * *

As Cassius swirled his atoms carefully into the small hole at the top of the stone _omphalos_ , he wondered how helpful this Voice of Wisdom was going to be. After all, it had been Iblis Teer Sr. who had pointed them this way. How much could he be trusted?

 _Sure, the snake has a forked tongue for a reason._ A quiet voice pointed out, as though attuned to his thoughts.

Cassius looked around. "Who's there?" He asked into the darkness, already feeling his claustrophobia and nyctophobia acting up, even though he was nothing but a spirit.

 _Fortune favors the bold, you know._

 _A hole is more honorable than a patch._

 _A friend's eye is a good mirror._

 _Your feet will bring you to where your heart lies._

 _A coconut shell full of water is a sea to an ant._

 _A roaring lion catches no game._

Cassius blinked. There was a voice in the darkness, whispering endlessly into his ear, proverb after proverb. Some he'd heard, but many he'd never encountered, despite the inordinate amount of books he read.

As if hearing him, the voice changed its theme.

 _A book is like a garden in the pocket._

 _Knowledge is like a garden: if not cultivated, it cannot be harvested._

 _The pen is mightier than the sword._

 _Knowledge without wisdom is like water in the sand._

"Excuse me, are you the Voice of Wisdom? I'd like to ask you a few things."

The voice sighed and stopped reciting proverbs.

 _Yes, that's me. I can't say I'm surprised, people always want to ask me things. What is it you need, child of the lamp?_

"I... um... My friend Holly came here a couple months ago and got a cryptic message about something concerning me and my cousin, and we're pretty stumped on what it means. Could you help us?"

 _You know Holly?_ The voice perked up. _Holly Godwin, the Prophet of this age?_ The voice asked eagerly. _How is she doing? She fixed that demon-fire problem she had, yes?_

"Uh, yeah." Cassius said awkwardly. "I haven't seen her since then, though."

 _Oh, right, of course. You and your cousin Buck have been on your road trip trying to figure out who it is that you both are._ The voice of Wisdom agreed. _And on that note, I entreat you to remember that "human beings are not born once and for all on the day their mothers give birth to them, but life obliges them over and over again to give birth to themselves.*_ " _Is that all you wanted?_

"No, it's the whole thing about... what was it again? Finding the stardust on the path to the stars or something like that."

 _Oh, yes, I remember. What, you want more clues? I thought I was very clever and quite clear if you thought about it- though, come to think of it, I suppose that djinn Nimrod wouldn't remember that one time, since it didn't actually happen when all was said and done. Don't get me started on time paradoxes, they're a headache for everyone involved. And technically speaking, I don't even have a head._

"A time paradox? What time paradox?" Cassius asked, his interest piqued.

 _No, no, never mind. It's irrelevant anyway. Now, as for the place you should head for... well, let's see, you remember the bit about it being between a rock and a hard place, yes?_

"I guess it sounds familiar," Cassius admitted. "I've sort of had this cold for awhile and It's getting so I can't remember what I've heard before."

 _You should drink some tea for that,_ The voice of Wisdom suggested, in a surprisingly motherly fashion. Cassius could hear Mrs. Malone- his adoptive and very unfortunately dead mother- in those words. _In any case, to begin your journey proper, seek out the modest domes of Kolkata, where a green man will tell you what you must know, as long as you bring him jelly beans._

"Wait, that's it?" Cassius asked, rather nonplussed. "That's a lot more... straightforward... than I was led to believe."

 _I've learned that the best way of conveying wisdom and information these days is to be less cryptic unless it's clear that the recipient can handle it. Besides, having met your brother not too long ago, I would have thought that you'd be in quite a similar state as him. He was quite out of sorts as well._

Cassius' blood went cold. "You mean... Azazel came here, too?" He asked, his voice trembling despite himself.

 _Well, yes. Everyone needs wisdom, don't they? I don't play favourites. Not like that moron up in Rome. The Mouth of Truth wouldn't know wisdom if it bit him in the beard._

"What was he doing?" Cassius asked, feeling a pit of dread forming in his stomach.

 _Oh, he came to me moping and doping, like a lot of djinn do._ The Voice of Wisdom said conversationally. _He wanted to know about Good and Evil, as I recall, and what the point is of conflict. I gave him some sound advice on the matter and sent him on his way. Oh, and I also mentioned that that little plan of his wasn't as huge of a failure as he'd thought. It cheered him up considerably._

If it was possible, Cassius's blood went even colder. "What plan?" He asked tremulously.

 _Didn't you know? Beelzebub woke up. He's around somewhere. Aren't you happy, too? He is your father, after all._

"Why would I be happy?!" Cassius demanded, his voice cracking with a mixture of fear and outrage. "He's a demon- he wants to destroy the world! What kind of a Voice of Wisdom are you?!"

 _All right all right, no need to snap._ The Voice of Wisdom sniffed haughtily. _Wisdom doesn't change based on moral persuasion, you know. Despite what you might think, I don't pick favourites. Solomon may have answered to God, but I'm not God. I'm as impartial as you get, kid. Anyone can learn._

"Anyone isn't Azazel!" Cassius said desperately. "How do we stop Beelzebub?"

 _First of all, you can't._ The Voice of Wisdom snapped. _You're nothing but a djinn, and a pretty poor one at that. You're practically useless as long as you have that cold, and even if you get better, you'll be useless until you know who you are and rid yourself of that fear and doubt strangling your soul. Leave the demon-smiting to the professionals: our mutual friend Holly and her angel friends will be more than enough to take care of demon problems._

Cassius stared into the darkness with faint disbelief. "But this is _my_ screwed up family!" He protested. "I'm the only one who works for good- I _have_ to do something!"

 _You're still only a djinn, child of the lamp._ Wisdom reminded him. _Djinn and angels do not generally mix. And another thing: what makes you think you're so special? Alignment with Good or Evil is never a simple matter of who you are born to, it is a culmination of the choices you make. So go and make some choices and find out where you truly stand. The answers may take you by surprise._

Cassius gritted his teeth, deciding that he most emphatically _did not_ like this Voice of Wisdom. "I've made this choice before, you know. I decided to stick with Good through thick and thin, no matter the cost. I'm not going back on that choice."

There was a slight pause, as though Wisdom had a slight smile. _Yes, what will be the cost of your decision? The price of fate can be much steeper than you realize, child._

"What's that supposed to mean?!" Cassius demanded.

" _May those who accept their fate be granted happiness. May those who defy their fate be granted glory.*_ " _Which will you choose?_

Cassius had more to say, more to find out, more to argue, but he found his spirit being pushed out of the dark inner sanctum of the _omphalos_.

 _Remember, the modest domes and the green man of Kolkata. And don't forget the jelly beans!_ Came Wisdom's parting words as Cassius was flung from the _Omphalos_ and slammed violently back into his body.

"What the hell!" Buck yelped as Cassius fell off the hassock, off balance and certainly out of sorts.

Cassius scowled darkly, his face red both from his cold and from the anger that roiled hotly around his insides. "We're going to Kolkata." He announced moodily. "But we gotta stop somewhere for jelly beans on the way."

Buck frowned. "...Okay, I guess. What happened in there?" He asked. Cassius shook his head and stood up.

After a brief pause, he looked Buck in the eyes and told him, "My dad woke up."

" _Shit,_ " Buck whispered.

Cassius nodded. "Agreed."

Their footsteps reverberated through the church as they hurried away under the watchful gaze of gilded statues.

* * *

 _ **Author's Notes:** Okay, I looked up waaay too many proverbs for this chapter. Like waaaaaaaaaaaaay too many. Also, the quotes I have starred are from (in order) 1. Gabriel Garcia Marquez, and 2. this anime called "Princess Tutu" (it's way more epic than the title would lead you to believe)._

 _Pip pip and all that_

 _~Lucinda :)_


	10. Chapter 9: A Slight Hiccough In Plans

**Chapter 9: A Slight Hiccough in Plans**

Holly folded her new clothes- so carefully picked out by Alexandra- and shoved them into her suitcase. She wasn't entirely sure what she needed or how much she needed, so in went shirts, jeans, skirts, leggings, hijabs, underwear, and several other small items that she thought would be useful: like her brand-new lamp, for example. Also stuffed into her suitcase were a couple of books, one on demonology (which she thought would be extremely useful, considering) and her copy of the SBR, handy for emergency djinn situations or a makeshift doorstop. Bound up with a rubber band were the cards on famous djinn, the top card of which read " _Iblis Teer, Ifrit. Extremely dangerous, avoid at all costs. Adept at trickery and diminuendo bindings. Known alliances: Ifrit, Jonathan Teer, Rudyard Teer..._ " At the bottom of the card, scrawled in Nimrod's carefullest (and for once legible) handwriting was " _Out of circulation. No longer a threat._ " It made her feel a little bad that, after all Nimrod, John, and Philippa had gone through to stop this Ifrit's wicked machinations, she was maybe going to undo it all. She had to keep reminding herself that she was literally choosing the lesser of two evils. Next to the cards she tucked the little wooden box with the letter and the tin of tobacco. Regretfully, she took a few more puffs of her pipe, and put it out so that it could go in the box as well.

After going to the bathroom to collect her toothbrush, toothpaste, shampoo and conditioner and other toiletries she might need, Holly was finished packing, and her suitcase was groaning uncertainly with everything she had stuffed in there. She actually nearly had to sit on the thing to get its buckles snapped shut.

"Oh good, you're ready." Casca's voice came dolefully.

"Gah!" Holly jumped at his sudden return. "You know, you could at least knock. I could have been packing my underwear!"

Casca shrugged. "It's a good thing you did pack, you know. We're going to be traveling for awhile." He looked so gloomy that Holly forgot her irritation.

"What is it? Can't you just zoom us around on your angel wings? That's what Gabriel does."

Casca's frown deepened. "Gabriel's an archangel, and I'm a complete novice. I asked Michael for permission to take you on leylines, but he shot me down big time."

"So... what does that mean? We're still going to ask Iblis for help, aren't we?" Holly fretted, worried that their apparent only hope was slipping out of her reach.

Casca smiled. "Of course. Michael did agree that Iblis Teer was likely a long shot, but one worth taking in this case. It just means that instead of getting there in a timely fashion, we'll have to take a plane."

"Aw, schist." Holly muttered. "Really? I hate planes, though."

Casca cocked his head to one side. "Did you just substitute the name of a metamorphic rock in place of a swear word?"

"Schist is metamorphic? Cool, I didn't know that." Holly brightened a little bit with the information.

"Is this a new development or are you just messing around? The words, I mean."

"I don't know what the frangipani you're talking about." Holly smiled, then let out a sigh. "I guess if we have to take a plane, it's not the end of the world. I just gotta find my passport again. You have tickets, right?"

"They're waiting for us at the terminal. I left them with a friend for the time being."

"Great. Ah, here it is! Let's get going. You think we can get a taxi?"

"I've already arranged for transportation to Heathrow," Casca smiled mysteriously. "Let's go."

Holly had intended to sneak out of the house without causing any disturbance whatsoever: after all, she'd left a note (making it as vague as possible so Nimrod wouldn't try and stop them without knowing why,) and with Mark in the hospital, Holly and Casca found it easy to sneak downstairs without interruption. Nimrod was still holed up in his library, and Alexandra hadn't returned yet, so Holly actually had her hand on the doorknob of the front door when the one person she hadn't accounted for spoke up quite suddenly.

"And where are you going in such a hurry, Miss Holly?" Groanin asked suspiciously, a bottle of wood polisher in one hand and a rag in the other: he'd been polishing the banisters. Holly winced. She'd become so used to Groanin's presence that she hadn't even registered him as she'd passed him on the stairs. That was the danger of having a butler who was good at his job: after awhile, he started to become invisible, part of the scenery.

"Um... Nowhere?" Holly said hopefully, trying to hide her bright red suitcase behind her back.

Groanin frowned at her. "Sneaking off somewhere on your birthday, Miss Holly, really? What would your parents think? I ought to go and fetch Nimrod at once, you know."

Holly bit her lip. This certainly was a pinch. She glanced around at Casca to find him smiling impassively.

"And who's this chap, hm? What would your brother say? I don't believe we even know this lad, and you're-" Groanin broke off as he approached them and squinted at Casca with disbelief etched across his wide, pink face. "Young Castiel?" He asked incredulously. "Is that really you?

Casca smiled. "It's nice to see you, Mr. Groanin. Holly and I are going on a trip. It's rather urgent, so we'd appreciate it if you let us go."

Groanin bristled. "Certainly not. I say certainly not. There'll be no sneaking out of the house as long as I'm here, no indeed. Nimrod would fire me for sure! And if not Nimrod, then the Missus, certainly. Where did you intend to go, anyway?"

"China." Holly answered simply. Then with a grimace, she sighed. "You can't wipe his memory or something?" She asked Casca, who shook his head.

"That would be unethical." He explained mildly.

"I figured as much." Holly sighed, then looked back at Groanin with a steely look in her eyes. "You're coming with us, Mr. Groanin."

Groanin bristled with indignation. "After I expressly said you were not to leave?" He asked incredulously. Holly smiled serenely.

"Well, Mr. Groanin, the fact of the matter is that I'm a djinn and Casca here's an angel, so we're both quite capable of leaving here with or without your permission. I just figured, since you don't want to lose your job, and seeing as how we're leaving for China one way or another, you might like the chance to come with us and keep an eye on us."

Groanin was at a loss for words. He was torn somewhere between utter outrage that he was being effectively ignored, curiosity as to what business Holly had in China, and a rather overwhelming feeling that he should be reporting to Nimrod right now.

All he managed to say, and weakly at that, was "I hate China. They eat all sorts of terrible things there, you know."

Holly shrugged. "Think of it as a business trip. I'm not going to make you eat in Chinese restaurants if you don't want to, you know. I'm not sadistic."

Groanin blinked at the two teenagers for a few more minutes, thinking how different Holly was from her father, when Casca frowned impatiently.

"Your suitcase, coat and hat." He announced, and quite suddenly, he was carrying the items and offering them to Groanin.

"What, you want to leave _now_?" He blustered. "But I've yet to pack- and you, young man, how did you do that without your focus word?"

"I told you, Cas is an angel now. Well, _this_ Cas is, anyway."

Casca smiled goofily at her. "Aw, thank you, Hol, that's so sweet of you to say."

Holly pulled a face. "Since when do you say things like _that_?" She asked with disgust. Casca laughed.

"It's fun to see your reactions." He explained cheerfully, and turned back to Groanin. "But in all seriousness, I am an angel now. I go by Casca, and the djinn version of me goes by Cassius. Just so you know." He placed Groanin's bowler hat on top of the butler's bald head. "We shouldn't keep our ride waiting, you know, it's rather rude."

"'Ride?' What do you mean, 'ride?'" Groanin asked, unrolling his sleeves and buttoning the cuffs scrupulously before accepting his jacket, a quiet admission of defeat.

Casca smiled. "Ariel Angelou's Taxi service."

"We're going to be taxied around by the bleeding Little Mermaid?" Groanin asked incredulously. Seeing Holly's curious (and somewhat amused) look, Groanin felt obliged to explain, with some embarrassment, "I have nieces, you know."

Casca's smile widened. "You probably shouldn't mention that movie to Ariel. He's a little sore on the subject."

"He?" Holly queried.

Casca nodded. "Come on and I'll introduce you. Ariel's a nice guy, he won't bite." He handed Groanin his suitcase, all neatly packed and as polished as a butler's suitcase should be, and opened the front door to let in a gust of chilly, damp early April air.

Waiting at the curb, leaning against his black taxicab, stood a man as tall and lanky as a string bean, with thick brown eyebrows, thick brown hair to match, and sun-browned skin. He was smoking a cigarette and wearing sunglasses, which he lifted when the door opened.

"Casca, buddy! Ready to go yet? I got places to be, ya know." He waved his cigarette, trailing smoke through the air.

Casca waved back, and led the way down the driveway to the cab to shake Ariel's hand. "Ariel, nice to see you again. Guys, this is Ariel. He goes by Ariel Angelou when he's pretending to be a mundane, so don't blow his cover if you see him working. Ariel, this is Holly Godwin and Mr. Groanin."

Ariel smiled at Holly and took her hand respectfully. "Ah, who doesn't know the djinn Prophet? Everyone's talking about you Upstairs these days."

Holly frowned. She didn't particularly enjoy being gossiped about, even among angels. "That reminds me, where did you all go awhile ago?"

Ariel shrugged. "There was an incident. It's not important, just Lucifer stirring up trouble again. There are people taking care of it. And you," he turned to Groanin, who flinched, all too aware that he was out of his depth when it came to dealing with angels. Djinn were bad enough, honestly. "Butler, right? Nice. And to deal with all this djinn stuff, I must say I'm rather impressed. Though you're probably uncomfortable around angels, huh?"

Groanin frowned and shook Ariel's hand with all the strength in his super-strong right arm. "Actually, I wrestled an angel once." He pointed out, in an attempt to make himself seem less pathetically mundane. "Sam, I think his name was. I won, too, I'll have you know."

Ariel wrestled his hand away from Groanin's vise-like death grip, wincing. "Yeah, well, Sam's a character." He laughed, massaging his sore hand. "Always liked a good fight." He glanced over at Casca with a grimace and mouthed the word _ow._ Casca shrugged apologetically, and Ariel sighed. "I'll load your bags in the back."

"Oh, thank you." Holly smiled and handed her overstuffed suitcase to the stringy angel, who took it carefully.

He shook his head. "Not at all, Prophet. Just doing a favor for Casca here." Gingerly, he took Groanin's suitcase too and walked round to the back of the taxi, where he busied himself trying to keep ahold of both suitcases while attempting to open the trunk.

Groanin frowned at the angel's futile attempts not to drop the luggage, and leaned over to speak to Holly and Casca in a low voice. "Are you quite sure about this? We can always just go back to the house-"

Holly frowned at Groanin. "Mr. Groanin, haven't you accompanied my father on all sorts of wild adventures? Compared to those, this is running an errand on a Sunday morning." She said sharply. Groanin's frown deepened.

"Why aren't you telling Nimrod, eh lass? Why China, hm?"

"This is our last chance for getting Azazel out of our hair without resorting to wanton violence, Mr. Groanin." Casca explained sternly. "My orders come from the highest authority- besides God Himself, of course."

"Yeah," Holly agreed. "Mickey the angel, right?"

Casca sighed. " _Michael_ the _Arch_ angel." He corrected.

Groanin was struck speechless for a few moments. "He... he's that chap in all them paintings, isn't he?" He asked, hoping that he might be wrong. To the butler's considerable dismay, however, Casca nodded.

"God's second in command," he confirmed.

* * *

 _ **Author's Notes:**_ _I have been criminally neglecting Groanin and it must stop immediately because there's so much I can do with his character but I've been avoiding him because he's hard for me to write. I think at least part of that is due to the fact that Kerr said that Groanin was the character who reminded him most of himself and consequently I've long felt unable to write him well. For now, though, I feel like experimenting, so as always, leave a review for me in the box below and thank you so much for reading!_

 _~Lucinda_


	11. Chapter 10: Angst at the Airport

**Chapter 10: Angst at the Airport**

Cassius had been unusually quiet since they'd left the Church of the Holy Sepulchre and hopped on a very unsteady whirlwind over to the Queen Alia International Airport, a few miles south from the Jordanian capital city of Amman to catch a flight to India. It was true enough that Cassius had always been on the quiet side, but Buck had learned, despite having the cold to end all other colds, his cousin was not one to sulk.

As he was now invariably doing.

Buck wondered what exactly had gone on within the _Omphalos_ that had put Cassius in such a foul mood, but the more he pressed, the less he got in reply. Eventually, Cassius got sick of being interrogated and retreated to his lamp-library, on the pretext of getting some rest. Buck knew that he was lying: and most likely was busily researching Beelzebub at this very moment.

In the large reading room of his lamp-library, Cassius slammed his fist on the table with frustration. He'd pulled every book he'd catalogued that had anything to do with demons, and they stood on the table in great and largely useless stacks. This wasn't enough information. None of these books told him how to subdue a major demon like Beelzebub without Divine Intervention, something he knew he couldn't afford to wait around for.

Maybe the Voice of Wisdom was right. Maybe Cassius was useless. Should he leave everything to Holly, Casca, and the rest of the angels? Just thinking about it made him annoyed enough to explode into a storm of hacking coughs, his breath rattling alarmingly in his chest.

"Ugh," he muttered, holding his head in his hands once he managed to stop. "Maybe I should at least have some tea."

Forcing himself to walk up the few wooden steps to the small living quarters was tougher than Cassius cared to admit- mostly because it meant admitting that he needed real rest. So, stubbornly standing by the kettle as it began to whistle, Cassius attempted to mentally review what he knew already.

Beelzebub was one of the most powerful demons in Hell, and if _Paradise Lost_ was to be believed, he was second in command. (Well it was better than having to deal with Lucifer, Cassius supposed.) He was often called the Lord of the Flies- which explained the insect-like buzzing Cassius remembered from his nightmares,- and as such had command over legions of monstrous beasts: including the demons who went around possessing people like in _The Exorcist_. As far as any book in his collection was aware, there was no way of binding him: yet somehow, the Phoenix Acolytes had managed just that, if only temporarily.

He strained to remember what had happened that fateful day in February, the day on which he held no doubts was the day that Beelzebub had risen again. How had Azazel attempted to free Beelzebub? These sorts of things, Cassius knew from his studies, usually had some sort of balance to them. So what had Azazel been doing?

Cassius' eyes widened as he remembered. _Blood._ Azazel had been out for blood, and not just anyone's blood- what did Cas, Dr. Godwin, Zoe Moore, and Mark have in common? _The blood of the ones who had bound Beelzebub._

Once the realization of the connection faded away, Cassius scowled once more. This information, however interesting, didn't help him in the slightest. It didn't encourage him to remember that three out of the five Phoenix Acolytes had lost their lives immediately following the completion of the binding. Cassius sighed. Much as he hated to admit it, talking to one of the remaining Acolytes was likely his best bet. And since Dr. Godwin was out of the question until Cassius was ready to return to England... That only left Dimme Teer.

"Great." Cassius grumbled. "Just great. I get to look for help from the woman who murdered my parents."

* * *

Outside the lamp, Buck had found a quiet corner of the airport to wait for their flight to board, just in case Cassius decided he was done pretending to rest and reappeared. And indeed, Buck had hardly settled comfortably into his chair, the two first-class tickets in hand along with a steaming coffee, a quiet plume of dark grey smoke, of a considerably darker shade than it had been in Rome, when he'd last transubstantiated, slithered out of the small opening of the lamp where the wick should have been, whirling silently until it solidified in the opposite chair as Cassius, who looked hardly more rested than he'd been when he'd entered the lamp library in the first place.

"Found anything?" Buck asked, taking a sip of the scalding black coffee, relishing its heat and its bitter taste.

Cassius' expression flickered stormily, but with a great effort, he managed to keep his face mostly neutral. "No," He replied, though internally he was screaming his lungs out. "Not really."

"Oh," Buck said with careless nonchalance, though he was watching Cassius' internal rage seething with some interest: he knew that expression, he knew how to hide it, and it rather amazed him to realize that his apparently perfect cousin was capable of being put in a bad mood. "So that's it then? We just leave it to Holly and everyone?"

Cassius leaned over and put his forehead on the table miserably. "I don't know. I don't know anything anymore." He said, his voice a little muffled from how it was squished on the tabletop.

"Don't know why you're talking to me, Golden Boy." Buck replied, taking a few more sips of his coffee. "I haven't even dealt with half-demons before, let alone the full-blown Prince-of-Hell kind." He scratched thoughtfully at the scraggly beginnings of a mustache that he wasn't yet sure whether he should keep or not. "I mean, besides February. And personally I don't think that really counts because I was a ghost for most of it."

Cassius lifted his gaze slightly from the table. "How can you be so complacent?!" He demanded incredulously. "There's an insanely powerful demon on the loose who wants to do _God_ knows what kind of horrendous evil and you just... just... _sit_ there? Drinking coffee?" He finished weakly, gesturing at the steaming styrofoam cup. Buck shrugged.

"I guess I don't know too much about demons."

Cassius seethed. "Imagine if Iblis were on the loose again. How would you feel about that?"

Buck drank the last of his coffee thoughtfully. "I'm not sure, actually. I know that there was a good amount of time where Evil Me wanted to kill Iblis and hated the fact that he couldn't... But now..." Buck grimaced at the thought. "I guess I'd probably try and help screw up whatever his plans were."

"Exactly." Cassius nodded vehemently and put his head back down on the table with a slight thump.

"You know, this table probably isn't that clean." Buck pointed out carelessly.

"I don't care." Cassius mumbled. "Everything's terrible, I can't do anything, and I feel like I'm dying." He curled his arms around his shaggy hair that he'd tied back in the loosest of ponytails. "What's more I can't stop feeling angry, I'm annoyed with everyone, and I really want to hit something."

Buck frowned. "Dude, haven't you ever had a bad day?"

Cassius was silent for a few moments before he chanced a glance upwards. "Not... really." He admitted reluctantly. "Not that I can remember, anyway. I think the worst days I've had- besides when Azazel screwed my life up and everything, you know, having my parents killed, kidnapping me, threatening my life and the lives of my friends, the usual- was when my goldfish died, when I was in fourth grade."

"So you've never had just one really terrible day? You've never felt like the universe was conspiring against you? Or had too much homework you had to do by tomorrow? Nothing like that?"

Cassius shook his head. "I liked doing homework. It relaxed me. To tell the truth, I kind of miss it."

"So you've never been in trouble or anything?" Buck asked with ever-increasing incredulity at exactly how much of a pious nerd his cousin actually was.

Cassius straightened up and tilted his head thosughtfully. "There was that one time I got suspended for punching a guy and breaking his nose. But I did have prior warning that fighting would result in suspension, so I didn't really mind."

Despite himself, Buck was impressed. "You broke some guy's nose?"

Cassius shrugged gloomily. "He deserved it." A slow, somewhat reluctant, but decidedly self-satisfied grin spread across his face at the memory. "The loser called Holly something... less than polite, so I popped him on the nose. There was blood everywhere. It was pretty much the reason Holly and I are such good friends now."

" _Dude,_ " Buck said, his admiration more obvious than he cared to admit. "That's awesome."

Cassius shrugged. "It was New York in September. There's always a lot of unpleasantness then. You lived in California, right? I bet the Islamophobia wasn't as bad out there." Cassius stared blankly out into the rest of the airport, his reluctant grin fading to be replaced by a more sober expression. "There were days that I got slurs thrown at me, even though I'm Catholic, just because of how I look. I really don't know how Holly managed it." He frowned. "She probably had all sorts of bad days and here I am whining about one-"

"Okay, I'm gonna cut you off right there." Buck talked over his cousin firmly, crushing the empty coffee cup in one hand. "First off, just because other people have had a lot of hardships in life doesn't invalidate your hardships. Second, I'd say you have a damn good reason for a bad day or two, don't you? It's not everyone who finds out that their evil, crazy-powerful demon lord father has escaped and is probably ready to wreak havoc on everything." Buck grimaced. "Shit, I actually see what Iblis Senior means about being an advice columnist. But anyway, the first step in getting your shit together, Golden Boy, is accepting that you don't have your shit together. I learned that the hard way from people who would never admit in a million years that they didn't have their shit together." He looked down at his squished styrofoam cup. "I gotta go throw this out. Be right back. Oh, by the way, if you wanna buy some jelly beans here, the gift shop's somewhere over there." Buck gestured vaguely across the terminal as he stood to go to the nearest trash can. "Though why the hell we need jelly beans is a frickin' mystery to me."

Cassius rested his head once again on the tabletop, his irrational anger now gone, replaced by the gnawing feeling of despair settling in the pit of his stomach. Why was everything these days tinged with desperation?

Buck's chair squeaked slightly as someone sat down in it. Cassius glanced up, expecting to see his cousin returned from his brief trip to the trash can, and was surprised to find instead an austere woman wearing black robes and clinking chainmail, a broadsword swinging at her hip. Her expression was stern on her dark face, and she brushed back her thick black hair with a sweep of her callused hand to get a better look at Cassius.

Cassius felt a chill ripple down his spine as his eyes met the woman's sharp, cold, nearly black gaze. These were eyes that held no small amount of power, he could tell just by looking at them.

"M-ma'am, my cousin was sitting there-" Cassius stammered nervously, and glanced over at Buck. His eyes bulged when he saw that Buck, along with everyone else in the airport terminal, was standing stock still, as though frozen solid. The squashed coffee cup was suspended in midair above the trash bin, as if attached to an invisible string. _What's going on?_ Cassius wondered, feeling himself begin to panic.

"No one will notice, don't worry." The austere woman assured him, a surprising note of comfort edging into her stern voice. "You and I just need to have a little chat, that's all."

"Who... Who are you?" Cassius asked, barely daring to speak.

The woman regarded him dispassionately before extending a hand. "Azrael, Angel of Death."

Cassius' hand trembled as he shook Azrael's hand. "N-nice to meet you. I'm C-Cassius."

"I'm aware."

* * *

 _ **Author's Notes:** Okay, can I just say that I am so ridiculously proud of the title of this chapter and it's not even funny. I'm just a sucker for alliteration, I guess. Also, I'll be taking a break next week because I need one also college is really stressful :(_

 _See you in a couple weeks! Tell me what you think of this monstrosity so far1_

 _~Lucinda_


	12. Chapter 11: The Angelic Cabbie

**Chapter 11: The Angelic Cabbie**

As Ariel's cab trundled down the darkening streets of London towards Heathrow Airport, Groanin was running an inner monologue fit to rival Hamlet's in terms of sheer volume. Sitting uncomfortably next to the serenely silent Casca as he listened to Holly in the passenger seat chatter to Ariel about her surprising and somewhat disappointing birthday, Groanin lamented that he hadn't at least dragged them to Nimrod before they left. Perhaps Nimrod would have even been able to stop them dead in their tracks- forget China altogether.

And indeed, why China? Groanin wondered. He hated China particularly- and not just because of his xenophobia. Indeed, the last time he'd been to China was when Iblis the Ifrit had nearly reversed the luck of the entire world, and Groanin had very nearly died more than once. Thoughtfully, he scratched his ear. Come to think of it, all his memories of China were rather muddled: most likely because of his exposure to mercury at the time. It did however, if he remembered correctly, involve a lot of famous dead people for some inexplicable reason. And really, what business did Marco Polo and Kublai Khan have wandering around beyond the grave? It was unnatural. Hopefully there wouldn't be any of that malarkey this time around- and hopefully he'd be able to avoid mercury altogether.

Though with these angels involved... Involuntarily, Groanin shuddered, and tried to inch away from Casca without drawing attention to himself. In his experience, beings who worked for good inevitably found themselves opposing the forces of evil. It was bad enough hanging around with djinn who inevitably attracted evil djinn, but angels? Why, he wouldn't be entirely surprised if demons were to show up now- and not just half-demons like Azazel. Real, full-fledged monsters straight from Hell. It sent Groanin into a kind of religious fervor just thinking about it.

Casca glanced over at the butler, sensing the man's discomfort. He knew it was probably justified: after all, they were planning to release one of the world's most notorious evil djinn, not that Groanin knew that. Holly was doing an excellent job of keeping a light and hopeful heart, but quite honestly, there was something about Cassius' letter that seemed not quite right to Casca. Something in the careful handwriting, something about the fact that Casca couldn't tell who had actually written it, as though it had been wiped clean of any evidence, even on an atomic level. But the information, he'd found, was sound. Michael had said so, and agreed that, so long as he cooperated, Iblis was an excellent candidate for putting Azazel out of circulation in a fashion that not even Azazel's death could achieve.

He had asked Michael if he ought to tell Holly about his doubts pertaining to the origins of the letter, but Michael had disagreed, shaking his head and making his neat dreadlocks swing wildly with the motion.

"No, Casca. If you introduce doubts, those doubts will cause problems and hesitation. Hesitation is how you die on the battlefield."

He'd had a point. Michael always did, even if he did tend to explain things in terms of war, which got a little annoying after a while, even to Casca.

"...And then this girl Faustina shows up, out of _nowhere_ \- well, not really out of nowhere, she did walk in through the door and everything, she didn't just _appear_ , you know- but anyway, it turns out that she's the Blue Djinn and wanted to know about Buck and where he went and stuff, but I had to tell her I didn't know anything really, because I don't, except for the part where he and Cassius went off on their road trip two months ago." Holly babbled cheerfully to Ariel. "And I really wasn't sure if I should mention it to anyone, but then Therese got really annoyed when I mentioned Buck, and then my brother fell down the stairs and got a concussion."

"It certainly sounds like an interesting day," Ariel commented patiently.

Holly nodded. "Yeah. Kind of a mixed bag, in the end. You know, you're a really good listener, Ariel."

The corner of Ariel's mouth quirked up in a slight smirk as he pushed his sunglasses back up the bridge of his nose. "Why thank you, Prophet Godwin. That's kind of you to say."

"It's true though. I don't know why: I mean, I just met you but I feel like I've known you for ye-" Holly broke off and squinted critically at the angel. "Oh. My. Garbanzo beans."

Ariel glanced over at her innocently. "What is it?"

Holly pointed an accusing finger his way. "I remember why you look so familiar! You were my third grade teacher, Mr. A!"

Ariel grinned. "I wondered when you would figure it out."

"You were my third grade teacher!" Holly repeated with incredulity, sitting back in the passenger seat heavily, shaking her head. "I don't believe this. How long have you guys been pulling tricks like that?"

"Oh, nearly all of your life, I believe." Ariel explained smoothly. "After all, even ignorant of your powers as you were, you are still the prophet of this age and therefore must be protected as Earth's link to God. It wouldn't do for you to cross paths with unscrupulous folk, demons or otherwise, so a few of us were ordered to check in on you and see how you were doing. Which reminds me, you never did turn in that book report."

"I don't think I even wrote it," Holly admitted, giving a soft laugh at the ridiculousness of it all. "So you angel guys have been stalking me since I was a kid?"

"Not stalking, protecting. And after _she_ stepped in, outside influences like me weren't necessary. And after you came into your powers, you had Gabriel to look after you, and now Casca as well."

"Who do you mean, 'she'?" Holly asked curiously.

"It's another surprise," Casca piped up from the back, joining the conversation with a smile that masked his previously brooding expression. "She's waiting for us at Heathrow."

Holly shot him a look via the rearview mirror. "Aw, come on, you already surprised me more than enough today. First it's my birthday, now this, why don't you tell me anything anymore?"

"Aw, don't be like that," Casca cajoled. "It's just for today, just because I want you to be happy on your birthday. Surprises make people happy, don't they?"

"Not sensible people," Groanin muttered before he remembered who he was talking about.

Holly sighed and slouched down in her seat. "Fine, Cas. Surprise me. How much longer until we get to Heathrow, Ariel?"

"Any minute now, Prophet Godwin." Ariel replied calmly. "I see you're still as impatient as ever."

"Hey, I'm a lot more patient than I was when I was eight," Holly pointed out crossly.

Groanin wondered if that was really true. Holly, though she'd had to mature in a hurry- even more so after Cas (or _Cassius_ , he supposed, the djinn version of Cas) had vanished into the snowy February morning- had never tolerated Nimrod's preferred long and rambly explanations when a simple, concise one would do just as well. Groanin knew that Holly's impatience bothered Nimrod, so much so that the djinn had taken to muttering complicated mathematical proofs to himself in an effort to remind himself that his intellect was not worthless. And the girl was horrendously impulsive as well, just look at the current situation: lighting off to China without so much as a second thought to run some mysterious errand and dragging him, the butler, who should have at least finished polishing the banisters before going anywhere, along with her. Groanin wondered how much of it was that certain brand of the teenager's quintessential struggle for independence, and how much of it was just Holly simply not thinking before she acted. Perhaps she felt that she was invincible as a result of her djinn powers and all this Prophet business, something that Groanin had to admit he hadn't fully believed until now, with all these angels showing up.

Ariel pulled the cab up into one of the temporary parking spots and tapped the wheel with both palms. "Well, this is where I leave you." He looked into the rearview mirror, locking eyes with Casca. "She's waiting inside the terminal for you."

" _Who_?" Holly asked, more out of annoyance now than anything else.

"You'll find out in a second, Holly." Casca laughed, and pushed his door open to hop out of the cab and grab the bags out of the trunk.

Groanin followed suit, feeling ill at ease. It was all very well driving around London with an angel who was apparently Holly's third-grade teacher, but the moment they stepped on a plane, he knew that there would be no going back. How had he allowed himself to get swept along with this outlandish plan, anyhow?

After Ariel's cab rolled away, Casca led the way through the glass doors and into the busy, echoing terminal of Heathrow Airport, swinging his duffel bag as though it weighed nothing. Holly followed, wheeling her old battered red suitcase with considerable irritation, while Groanin trailed after the two of them, holding his own sensibly black suitcase in front of his ample belly as though it would provide some sort of protection for whatever crazy scheme he was getting dragged into this time.

"There she is!" Casca gestured excitedly, and raised a hand along with his voice as he called to an auburn-haired woman a few yards away from them. "Sarah! Over here!"

The woman, Sarah, turned and smiled, and the handle of Holly's rolling suitcase clattered to the tiles, her breath catching in her throat. "But you... were..."

"Holly!" Sarah crooned, hurrying over and hugging Holly fiercely. Holly, uncharacteristically, burst into hysterical tears. Sarah patted Holly's hijab gently. "There, there. My, you've gotten so tall since I saw you last! Has it really been less than a year?"

Groanin blinked. Who was this woman? Clearly, Holly knew her, and clearly her sudden appearance had come as a great shock to the young djinn.

Unwilling to talk to Casca but even less willing to interrupt Holly, Groanin sidled over to Casca's side and leaned over to speak in a low tone. "Who exactly is this woman, then?"

Casca glanced over at the butler with mild surprise. "Oh, you didn't know? She's Holly's stepmother."

Groanin digested this information for a moment, then started with surprise. "The one who died in those fires?"

"Obviously not," Casca smiled patiently. "It takes more than a fire to kill an angel."

Groanin's wide pink face went quite pale. "You mean to tell me," he said, trying valiantly to control his sudden sense of uncontrollable panic, "that Miss Holly's stepmother from New York- the lady who married Mark's father- is _another bleeding angel_?"

Casca nodded. "Yes, that's it." He smiled. "That's it exactly."

* * *

 ** _Author's Notes:_** _Okay, I think I can safely assert that none of you saw that one coming, did you? Casca and his surprises, huh? Also, I don't know why I avoided writing Groanin for so long: his constant complaining is truly a joy to write. Then again I don't really ever seem to have much idea of what to actually do with him besides have him complain all the time, so there's that. A pox on comedic side-characters who are very specific to a culture with which I have had zero interaction. Aah, whatever. As always, leave a review!_

 _Bye bye!_

 _~Lucinda_


	13. Chapter 12:A Metaphysical Midnight Cuppa

_tw: blood, knives_

 **Chapter 12: A Metaphysical Midnight Cuppa**

"What do you want to talk about, Azrael?" Cassius asked, his voice shaking with somewhat irrational fear. Hadn't he dealt with angels before? Hadn't he been on good terms with Gabriel, a powerful archangel? Why was he feeling so terrified now? He barely had to ask himself the question before he knew the answer: this terror he felt was because he had lost the angelic portion of himself.

Azrael seemed either ignorant or indifferent to Cassius' fear. It was like this every time she talked to the less-powerful creations. She was used to fear, and it no longer bothered her the way it had when time had first begun. "I don't have much time like this, so I'll make this quick." She told him brusquely. "Your father has blackmailed me into finding you, your brother, and your mother."

Cassius' heart pumped wildly in his ears, almost drowning out all other sound. He was barely able to process what Azrael said next.

"However, since I am still an angel of the Lord and he's nothing but a whiny demon, I have resolved not to disclose your location to him, since you are in a delicate state of mind right now, as Raphael and your other self tell me. You will, however, not be able to run for much longer without some sort of protection."

Cassius flinched away as Azrael pulled a sheathed dagger from the folds of her black robe and slid it across the table towards him.

"What... What are you giving me that for?" Cassius asked, staring with wide eyes and automatically recoiling as Azrael pulled the dagger out of its sheath. The blade glimmered with a sickly green, softly glowing with an eerie, alien light.

"Protection, young djinn." Azrael explained sharply. "It's my own brand of Heavenly Iron. Use it with great care; I am the angel of Death, and all my blades reflect that. It will kill anything it cuts."

She slid the glowing knife back into its sheath and pushed the weapon into Cassius' trembling hands.

"B... but this is an airport!" Cassius protested weakly. "I can't just carry a weapon around!"

Azrael regarded him coolly. "So put it in your lamp." She suggested. "Or better yet-" Before Cassius could process what was happening, Azrael pulled the dagger from his hands, drew another blade, seized Cassius' hand, and cut a slit into his thumb. Working quickly, she once again withdrew the glowing green dagger from its sheath and allowed Cassius' blood to drip onto the blade.

"What are you doing?!" Cassius asked, his voice squeaky with fear. "Are you trying to kill me?"

Azrael rolled her eyes. "No. Watch." She pointed down at the dagger, and Cassius observed as the weapon shimmered and vanished from sight. "Now you can call it at any time you feel in danger, but be warned, it's unlikely that you'll be able to kill anything more powerful than a possessor demon. Use it responsibly."

"But I-" Cassius began, but right before his eyes, Azrael vanished with a flutter of her grey bloodstained wings. Time resumed its march, and Buck sat back down.

He glanced over at Cassius and snorted. "What's your problem, Golden Boy? You look like you saw a ghost. And I should know, you're wearing the same dumb expression you were when you met me."

Cassius shook like a leaf as he shrugged. "A- Azrael." He stammered, wiping his bleeding thumb absently on his jeans.

"When did you cut yourself?" Buck asked, furrowing his eyebrows at the blood. "You were fine just a second ago."

Cassius shook his head wordlessly.

Buck frowned some more, but decided to let it slide for now. "Come on, wet wipe, let's get some jelly beans." He glanced again at Cassius' cut. "And maybe a band-aid or something. Jesus, you're a walking disaster, aren't you?"

Cassius cleared his throat. "Yeah." He agreed shakily. "I kind of am."

* * *

They boarded the plane with two bags of Jelly Bellys which clinked around noisily in Buck's knapsack. Cassius was still severely shaken from his time-stopping encounter with Azrael, and he couldn't stop running his fingers over the band-aid wound around his thumb.

"It was insane, Buck." He said, after he'd collected his wits again. "Everything just _stopped._ " He shivered. "Why is that demon looking for me anyway? And why is he using an angel?"

"I don't freakin' know. How am I supposed to know?" Buck muttered, tossing his softly clattering knapsack into the overhead storage locker, and following it up with Cassius' backpack.

"Careful, my lamp's in there!" Cassius protested, and sat down in the cushy first-class seat with a weak and very congested sigh. "I hate this feeling, you know? I hate feeling afraid all the time."

"You keep forgetting that you actually do have a bunch of powerhouse angels on your side." Buck reminded Cassius, feeling bored with the conversation already and wondering if it was too early to look for a movie to watch. "And besides, Azraquel-"

" _Azrael_ ," Cassius corrected automatically.

" _Azrael_ gave you something to help fix the problem, didn't she? So why are you still moping? Shouldn't you be using that super-smart brain of yours to figure out what Wisdom meant by 'modest domes of Kolkata?' It seems to me that we should probably know where we're going before we get there."

Cassius slouched in his seat. "I was already doing that."

"Yeah? And?"

"It could be the Temple of Ninety-Five Domes." Cassius suggested reluctantly, popping a charcoal pill into his mouth and feeling decidedly sleepy.

Buck frowned. "Doesn't sound that modest to me."

"You have yet to consider the fact that there are actually one hundred eleven domes. Much more modest to claim ninety-five than a hundred eleven." Cassius' eyelids drooped. He actually felt a bit grateful for his impending nap, as it might allow him some time to properly collect himself without any interference. Unless of course he had a nightmare.

Since Cassius and Casca had become two separate beings, Cassius had noticed that his dreams had changed significantly. He often didn't dream at all, and when he did it was normally the old terror that he was trapped in the dark where monsters- or demons- lurked ready to torture him. Gone for good were the friendly visits from various angels. He never did find out what had happened to Castiel, and was on the verge of deciding that he didn't want to know.

"Is that the only place you found?" Buck asked doubtfully, but Cassius had already nodded off.

Perhaps it was his increasingly ill mind at work, but for once Cassius' dreams were different.

Though in this case, 'different' still did not mean 'pleasant.'

He found himself in a scene he had since tried to forget: an all-too-familiar scene from the train wreck that had been last June.

He was seated in a deceptively uncomfortable armchair next to a window that looked out on the rushing Nile River below, illuminated by quiet moonlight. Cassius knew this place. It was the very place, the hotel room somewhere in Egypt, where Azazel had informed him of his true heritage as a half-demon Ifrit.

Cassius felt a bitter taste rise in his mouth, like bile, and spat on the carpet with disgust. He'd never hated anything before meeting Azazel. Now, however, he could feel hatred creeping into his heart, like the wisps of black thoughts on the back of his _synopados._ All thanks to Azazel.

"Don't act like an animal." Mumbled a tired and very English voice from across the room, and a light snapped on. Azazel sat up in bed, his shaggy blond hair a bird's nest on his head, attempting to rub the dark circles from underneath his eyes with little success.

Cassius frowned. Azazel hadn't looked like this last June. His hair had been shorter, his manner more deadly professional and utterly condescending, his appearance neat. This Azazel looked as though he hadn't gotten a wink of sleep (or a haircut of any sort) since Cassius had last seen him, in the dimly-lit tomb, just before he'd taken that terrible broadsword that leaked shadows and sliced Cassius in two...

Cassius shivered and brought his hand to his middle, where the scar that even Casca hadn't quite been able to heal still stung with painful memory. Despite the terrifying memory, however, Cassius braced himself and looked Azazel square in the eye.

"Oh," Azazel said, seeming hardly surprised to see him, "It's you, then." Azazel seemed perfectly at ease, perhaps even a little gloomy. He fell back onto his pillows and yawned. "Coming back to haunt me, little brother?"

Cassius frowned. This was most unlike Azazel. If he wasn't very much mistaken, there seemed to be a note of... _melancholy_ colouring Azazel's speech. Wanting to get to the bottom of this- was this a dream, or something more?- Cassius stood. "What's that supposed to mean?" He asked hostily.

Azazel sighed. "Broken mirrors, broken people. Hmph. Even when I'm sleeping I can't get any sleep." He grumbled, and tossed aside his covers and stood, slipping his feet into a pair of slippers. Moving stiffly, Azazel bent down and picked up a somewhat tattered bathrobe from the floor, which he slipped on over his pyjama pants and baggy black t-shirt. Still acting strangely gloomy- maybe it was just that he was sleepy, Cassius reasoned- Azazel shuffled over to the kitchenette and put the kettle to a boil. "What do you want?" He asked, as though this was completely normal. "Breakfast tea? Green tea? I think I have some cocoa, if you're too American for tea." He gave a small smirk at this and began searching the cupboards, shifting aside various canisters of tea, selecting the largest for himself before looking back at Cassius patiently, waiting for a response.

Cassius couldn't decide how to feel. On the one hand, there was something distinctly wrong about this, Azazel offering to make him tea in the middle of the night like it was nothing- and in a dream, no less. On the other hand, however, Cassius felt strangely at ease as well, as though, for this moment at least, he and Azazel were not great enemies, and instead slightly antagonistic brothers. Despite the tingling scar across his chest, Cassius felt safe.

"Green tea sounds good." He nodded, approaching cautiously and hovering by the small kitchenette table, uncertain whether he ought to sit down.

"Strange, I thought the same thing." Azazel commented mildly, and shut the cupboard doors on the tea canisters and began to hunt for teacups, saucers, and a teapot while steam began to rise from the kettle's spout. Noticing Cassius hovering, he gestured at a chair with a smooth flick of his wrist. "Sit down. I can't stand it when people hover. They're like ill-mannered hummingbirds."

Cassius sank into the chair, never taking his eyes off of Azazel as the djinn busied himself with the tea fixings- placing the teacups and saucers at the table, followed by a sugar bowl and a mismatched cream pitcher, spoons, and finally the teapot filled with exactly the right amount of tea leaves, and finally came the boiling water, poured in a swift, expert motion.

After he'd placed the hot kettle back on the stove, Azazel sat in the chair opposite Cassius and with remarkable calmness poured himself and then Cassius a cuppa.

Cassius frowned, wrapping his fingers around the warm china cup that certainly didn't match any of the other porcelain ware at the table. "Why the tea?" He asked, bringing the cup to his lips and inhaling the blessedly hot steam. Even in the dream, Cassius still could feel the dreadful curse of his stuffy nose.

"Well, quite ignoring the fact that you so rudely spat on my floor, offering a guest a cup of tea is common courtesy. I would be remiss if I didn't offer my own brother a pot of tea, even if we are bitter enemies." Azazel explained calmly, adding sugar to his cup and otherwise ignoring the cream he had laid out.

The two sipped their tea in silence for a few moments before Cassius raised a question. "What did you mean by saying that I'd come back to haunt you?"

Azazel shrugged. "Nothing much. Perhaps my subconscious self is feeling a little guilty for tearing you in two like that, even if it was rather necessary. Despite everything, you are my little brother, Castiel." He frowned pensively. "Do you still go by that? You've split into two people, I should think going by one name would get confusing."

"It's Cassius now." Cassius explained stiffly. "And how exactly do you know that I've split?"

Azazel shrugged once more. "I know how to read between the lines, even if I was quite disorientated from nearly being suffocated. You were lying on the floor, whole once more and breathing, yet you were also in the other room sending all the ghosts back to Purgatory." He paused a beat. "Incidentally, were you aware that Father has risen once again?" Azazel should have sounded gleeful: Cassius knew, and could tell that the uncertainty in Azazel's voice stemmed from the fact that he _didn't_ feel overjoyed by the news.

Cassius, inclined to be truthful and certainly curious to find the reason behind Azazel's uncertainty, nodded. "The Voice of Wisdom told me." He confessed. "They said that they told you, too. You were happy about it, weren't you?"

Azazel frowned and looked into his nearly empty teacup, at the tea leaves that had sunk to the bottom, waiting to become dregs.

"I was." He muttered, as if to himself. "I should be still."

"What's changed?" Cassius pressed on.

Azazel shook his head, finished off his cup, and poured himself another. "I'm not sure. I can't seem to make sense of my thoughts these days." He looked up at Cassius, his piercing green gaze searching for something in his brother's face. "How do you do it?"

Cassius felt a little self-conscious. "Do what?" He asked, taking a few hurried sips of tea.

Azazel frowned. "How were you so sure of yourself, even after you found out that you're my little brother? After you found out that your entire life was a lie?"

Cassius got the feeling that Azazel was being deliberately cryptic, that most likely he had some great uncertainty growing in his heart that he wasn't sure what to do about. Carefully, he set his mismatched teacup down on the saucer and returned Azazel's green-eyed gaze with one of his own. He knew he had options: He could easily be entirely and rather childishly unhelpful, or give the stock answer that he was sure that Azazel was waiting to hear, but instead... He'd been honest up until this point, and despite the boiling hatred resting somewhere in between his lungs, Cassius knew that the right thing to do for Azazel was to offer genuine advice.

"I wasn't ever sure of myself after I found out I was a djinn. It was like that one thing turned everything I thought I knew upside-down, and made it so that I couldn't trust anything anymore." He smiled as serenely as he could manage, hating himself for offering up such advice to his bitterest enemy, knowing that this was probably not the smartest thing to do. "That never went away. And now, now that I'm only a djinn and nothing more, I'm even less sure of who I am." He sniffed and wiped his nose on his sleeve. Sighing, Azazel offered a handkerchief, which Cassius accepted wordlessly.

"So what does this mean?" He asked, watching Cassius blow his nose with vague disgust. "How are you ever going to be sure of yourself again?"

Now it was Cassius' turn to shrug. "Heck if I know." He said ruefully. "But I know that I have to stop trying to define myself using others. If I can get past that, then I might be able to figure myself out."

Azazel leaned back in his chair and regarded him thoughtfully, and, very slowly, nodded with comprehension. "I believe you have a point." He said, and Cassius was amazed to hear a faint note of respect in his voice.

Cassius felt the scar that ran crosswise across his torso prickle angrily again, as though the injury itself was annoyed with him- _don't you remember what he did to you? He's the reason you're in this mess to begin with!_

"And now I have some advice for you." Azazel announced brusquely, suddenly all business, the thoughtful amazement gone. "Steer clear of angels and demons, and you just might live through whatever Father has in store. You mentioned you're nothing but a djinn now? Good, stick with other djinn."

"Wait, do you mean to tell me that you don't know what Beelzebub-"

Azazel shushed him loudly, and looked off into the distance. After a tense silence, he continued in a low voice. "Don't speak demons' names, either, especially Father's. He might hear you and decide to pay you a visit. And no, I don't know what Father plans: He asked me to free him and I obliged, if incompletely. Don't get involved with the big players if you value your life." Azazel looked back at Cassius and frowned. "Though I suppose I forgot who I was talking to. In any case, I'm out of brotherly advice, and Asher is trying to wake me up. If you aren't a figment of my guilty conscience, Cassius, and we should happen to meet in wakefulness, then remember that this conversation never happened."

"Wait-" Cassius began, but very abruptly the fine hotel room was plunged into complete darkness, taking Azazel with it.


	14. Chapter 13: Send Me A Postcard

_tw: corpses, creepy imagery_

 **Chapter 13: Send Me a Postcard**

Holly tugged off her glasses and dried her eyes, catching her breath and hoping her face wasn't too puffy from crying. She felt a little embarrassed, crying like this in front of not only a terminal full of people, but Groanin and Casca as well. She looked up at her stepmother; even after Holly had grown so much, the woman was still taller than she, though that could have something to do with the high heels Sarah was wearing.

"Why didn't you say anything after the fire? Everyone said you were dead!" Holly demanded, edging back into her usual brash self.

Sarah gave a melancholy smile and tucked a few stray locks of hair into Holly's headband under her hijab. "I'd just received orders that my services were no longer needed, so I was brought back to Heaven. I didn't want to leave you and Mark, believe me, but I must follow my orders."

"Is that why you're here now? Orders?" Holly pressed on, slowly feeling more and more quarrelsome as this conversation progressed. It was a lot like talking to Alexandra on any given day, Holly reflected briefly.

"Yes, but I was the one who suggested that you might feel awkward in the company of two men." She nodded over at Groanin and Casca. Casca smiled, while Groanin tipped his hat respectfully and perhaps even a bit fearfully. "I mean, what would your brother say? Yes, I know he's taken to trying to be your parent. But you know, it's a defense mechanism. Mark just wants to be sure that you're safe."

"Yes, because apparently our parents died in a terrible fire set by our enemies!" Holly snorted with vague disgust. "We went to your funeral! I mean, Mark actually _cried_ over the remains. You couldn't send us a postcard from Cloud Nine?"

"Actually I live in the Seventh Heaven-" Sarah said helpfully, but Holly waved her away.

"I don't care. You need to apologize to Mark the first chance you get."

Sarah met Holly's gaze evenly, before looking down at her feet in a sheepish manner. "I am sorry for leaving you both on your own." She mumbled. "I just... I was in mourning, too, and I didn't stop and think. I'm sorry."

Holly let the tension hang in the air for a few moments before sighing. "All right. I'll forgive you. But only because I'm happy you're not dead."

Sarah smiled tremulously and gave Holly another hug. "Thank you, Holly dear."

"We should get going," Casca suggested, glancing over at the departures timetable. "Do you have the tickets, Mrs. Coomes?"

Sarah blinked, as though she had quite forgotten about their companions, and nodded. "Yes. Four tickets to Xi'an via Beijing. Let's hurry through the line, shall we? Holly, do you have your medicine?"

Holly rolled her eyes, secretly glad that everything felt normal again with her suddenly not-dead stepmother. "Yes, Sarah, I have my medicine." She said with a small smile.

"Good," Sarah Coomes smiled back. "Then we can go. Get your suitcase."

Holly picked up the handle of her red suitcase and walked in step with Sarah, while Groanin and Casca trailed behind, the latter smiling contentedly, and the former looking on with faint wonder at the sight before him: what exactly had that conversation been? An argument, a tearful reunion, or a familial chastisement? It seemed that Holly had taken a leaf out of Alexandra's book when it came to interpersonal relationships in that she was as confusing as possible.

On the plane, Holly slept with her hands folded neatly across her stomach, while Sarah, seated next to her, read a paperback novel and said few words to either Groanin or Casca, for which Groanin was thankful. Djinn he could deal with, but angels? Angels still gave him the willies. They reminded him of large cats, so powerful that they had no sense of danger. And like a certain incident involving large cats, Groanin couldn't help but feel that dealing with angels might cause him to lose an arm. Again.

Nervously, Groanin fiddled with the watch on his right wrist- a gift from John, Philippa, and Buck from when they had returned his arm to him and made it ludicrously strong in the process. He'd gotten used to having both arms again, and even the hypothetical thought of losing one made Groanin highly uncomfortable. He glanced at Casca. Was he really the same as that perpetually disheveled but brilliant teenager Groanin had come to know over the months? He wasn't disheveled enough, not gaunt enough, and the dark circles underneath his cool green eyes were simply not dark enough. It was like looking at a warped picture of Cas instead of the real thing.

Groanin was so nervous by this point that he nearly yelped with fear when he felt a tap on his shoulder. He turned to see that it was only Sarah, observing him carefully from across the narrow aisle.

Groanin cleared his throat. "Yes, Madam, what might I do for you?" He asked, in his best butler manner, trying desperately not to let on how uncomfortable he was.

"You're perfectly free to call me 'Sarah' or 'Mrs. Coomes', Mr. Groanin." Sarah pointed out, but shook her head. "That's not what I want to ask you though. What I want to know is... what manner of people are Holly's birth parents? These Godwins, Nimrod and Alexandra, what are they like?"

Groanin felt torn. On the one hand, Nimrod was his employer and it was Groanin's duty to maintain his good reputation. On the other hand, he was talking to an angel who like as not knew if he spoke the truth, so it wouldn't do to exaggerate to make her feel better.

"They're fine djinn," Groanin assured her truthfully. "I wouldn't go so far as to say they make fine parents, but both Nimrod and Alexandra try their best, and Miss Holly is resilient."

Relief flooded Sarah's face. "Oh, that's good to hear," She mumbled softly. "And Holly... Holly seems happy. Like she's found her place in the world."

"All due respect, but your people had quite a bit to do with that as well." Groanin pointed out. "I mean, all this prophet business and everything. What a burden for a young person to bear, eh?"

"I know." Sarah murmured, slipping Holly's glasses off of her sleeping face and tucking them into their case. "But she knows who and what she is now."

In her sleep, Holly shifted, as though she could tell that she was being discussed.

In point of fact, however, Holly was having her own discussion about herself, tucked away in the familiar garden of her sleeping mind.

"Why didn't you _tell_ me that my birthday was April 14th?" She asked Gabriel, tugging his ear ruthlessly, deaf to his pleas for mercy.

"I wanted it to be a surprise!" he wailed helplessly, though Holly was certain he was only humouring her.

"And Sarah? Why didn't you tell me about her? And what about Ariel, and the Allah-only-knows how many other angels you've gotten to stalk me over the years?!" Holly demanded.

"There weren't that many!" Gabriel protested. "And I'd have guarded you myself but for the fact that I was busy at the time!"

"Busy with what, exactly?" Holly asked coldly, finally releasing the archangel's ear.

Gabriel frowned and straightened up, rubbing his sore ear a tad resentfully. "Busy with archangel duties. Besides, as your powers, both djinn and prophetic, were immature and inactive until last June, you were in very little danger. An angel such as Sarah was more than adequate for your protection."

"And you never thought to mention this little factoid to me at any point?"

"Holly please," Gabriel entreated.

"Holly nothing." Holly replied sharply. "I want you to own up to this. Geez, why does every adult in my life- regardless of what they are- feel the need to shelter me from things I don't even need to be sheltered from?!"

"Holly calm down. I'm sorry I didn't tell you, but I didn't think it was that important."

Holly stared at him with faint disbelief. "Not that important?" She asked, her voice shaking with hysterical laughter. " _Not that important?_ " She repeated. "Jibril, Sarah's my stepmother. I thought she was _dead_."

Gabriel looked down at his feet in silence, looking cowed.

"I'm sorry, Holly." He mumbled finally.

"Damn straight you are." Holly snorted, folding her arms. A moment later, she let out a long sigh and sank down into the grass. "I'm sorry for being so belligerent lately, Jib. I know I should be more patient, it's just... all the adults treat me like I'm still a kid, and life sucks and I hate everything." She pulled her knees to her chest and wrapped her arms around them. "I just hate feeling like I can't do anything. I hate the feeling that everyone's sneaking around behind my back, lying to me. I mean, even with the whole birthday thing. I would have liked to know before the fact. Do you have any idea how irritating that is, being a prophet but being out of the loop?"

"No, I don't." Gabriel admitted, sitting cross-legged beside her. "But have faith, Holly. Misfortune comes and goes, like the tide. Things will get better."

"You think so? I wish I was that certain of things. As it is I haven't had any visions since Christmas."

"About that..." Gabriel scratched his cheek awkwardly. "How do I put this... You're about to have one right now. So pay attention."

"Wait, now?" Holly asked, but abruptly the dream was plunged into roiling darkness, flinging her from the comforting setting of her garden and into an eclectic string of images.

A white wolf trotted towards her, wagging its tail exictably. A redheaded boy with freckles spangled across his dark face glared at her with seething resentment. A blond man with dark skin who had features suspiciously similar to those of Dimme Teer smirked at her in a self-congratulatory fashion. She saw a ransacked bedroom, the stuffing from pillows strewn over the floor, books torn to pieces, blankets shredded, and in the middle of it all was a fair-haired young man curled up as small as his rather bulky frame would allow, rocking back and forth and muttering, before him a mirror of black glass broken neatly in two. Dimme Teer drew back her fist and punched the smirking man, who was no longer smirking. She saw the impassive face of Faustina Sachertorte say a stern but silent sentence, her voice lost in the images. A dark man sat in a revolving armchair, fussing over a pile of paperwork as the ghost of a woman looked on, her semi-transparent lips curling into a cruel smile as she pawed at the man's hair with hands that merely passed through him, while a body lay rotting in the shadows in the corner. A man with one arm, one leg, and an angry scar covering half his face smiled coldly at her, and Holly felt a chill fueled by pure terror run down her spine as she met his mismatched gaze. He raised his single hand, reaching out to her with a clawlike hand, killing intent in every motion, shadows dripping and writhing like tortured souls around him. Holly wanted to back away, but found she was frozen, either with terror or by some otherworldly force. In her ear, the harsh but not unkind voice of a woman whispered a couplet.

" _If one thing you understand,_

 _Flies have risen from the sand."_

A scream bubbled up from deep within her, and Holly's world abruptly fell into utter silence.


	15. Chapter 14: An Audience w the Green Man

**Chapter 14: An Audience with the Green Man**

Cassius awoke with a soft gasp followed by a loud sneeze.

"Gross, man!" Buck exclaimed with disgust, and wiped the snot that Cassius had sneezed onto his arm off on Cassius' shirt, grimacing all the while.

"Sorry," Cassius murmured automatically, trying to find his tissues in his pocket so he could wipe his nose. And the television screen before him. And the back of the chair in front of him. Instead of tissues, he pulled out a handkerchief. That was odd, Cassius thought, he didn't remember having a handkerchief before.

"You really do have some cold, huh?" Buck commented, tugging his headphones from his ears in order to converse properly. "It's like that Levitator did nothing for you."

"Yeah, well, sorry if I get you sick, too." Cassius said miserably. "But I guess this is what I get for having a strong immune system all these years." He coughed into his sleeve. "I feel like I'm dying." He complained.

Buck punched him companionably on the shoulder. "Toughen up, Golden Boy. Though I'll admit, it is weird that you'd get a cold right as the weather starts getting warmer. I dunno. Maybe it'll be better when we're in India. It's great down there, if you stay out of the mountains."

"Oh, yeah, how long was I asleep? Are we almost there yet?"

"Nah, man, I think we still have a few hours to go. We're going through Dubai. You were asleep for..." Buck glanced at his small television, calculating how many R-rated movies he'd made it through before Cassius had woken up, "Five hours, I think." He yawned. "But I gotta get some sleep myself, so wake me when we get to Dubai."

Cassius nodded and glanced around the cabin as Buck settled himself in for a nap. What had that dream meant? Did it indeed mean anything? Cassius shivered as he found he wasn't certain. Trying to put all thoughts of dreams from his mind, he reached into another pocket to try and find his charcoal pills, as his claustrophobia was coming back to him as he became more aware of his surroundings.

After he'd taken a pill and shoved the blue plastic case back into his pocket, Cassius noticed his hand brush against a piece of paper. With dread forming a heavy pit in his gut, Cassius pulled the paper out of his pocket and read the familiar words:

" _The dreams are reality,_

 _The reality's a dream,_

 _The young ones should remember,_

 _Things aren't always as they seem."_

Cassius shivered. This poem- whatever it meant,- had haunted him since February, since he'd received it as a warning from the angel Castiel. Although... Cassius frowned. How could he be sure that it was from Castiel? The poem itself said that perception was deceptive. And as he hadn't seen Castiel since, there was no way to determine if the creepy little note was from him. Did this mean that his conversation with Azazel had really happened? Azazel certainly hadn't acted as he normally did in Cas's nightmares. What was more, Azazel had seemed to be under the impression that he had been the one doing the dreaming. Cassius gave a start as he suddenly remembered the spontaneously appearing handkerchief. Hadn't Azazel given him a handkerchief in the dream?

Cassius stared at the scrap of dull white cloth in his hand and shivered. He shivered again as he recalled something Azazel had told him in the dream: _Perhaps my subconscious self is feeling a little guilty for tearing you in two like that, even if it was rather necessary. Despite everything, you are my little brother, Castiel._

Was that true? Could Azazel even feel remorse? Cassius thought back to the first time they'd encountered one another, how cruel Azazel had been to him... and yet he hadn't physically harmed Cas in any way. Yes there were the bindings- the memory of the quaesitor still sent Cassius into shivers of disgust, but beyond that, Azazel hadn't expressed any wish to hurt Cas. Oh, yes, he was willing to evaporate Europe, murder Holly by using Cas as bait, and kill his own cousin Jonathan Teer, but he'd never seemed to intend for Cas to die as well.

Even last December, when they'd run into each other in the desert and defeated Alexander's lion by working together- albeit accidentally- Azazel had asked if Cas had changed his mind. Cassius never did find out what Nimrod had said to Azazel to actually get him out in the desert for a parley, but Cassius suspected it had had something to do with him. Yes, everything Azazel had done- though many horrors- had been family-driven. It spooked Cassius to realize that Azazel's main motivation, or so it seemed, was something so... innocent as family. Though to be fair, Azazel's family was hardly innocent. Demons... Ifrit... The family that Azazel had grown up with was the perfect epitome of Evil.

Another chilling thought struck Cassius: if Castiel and Janax had not taken him away when they did, would Cas have grown up the same as Azazel? Would he still have been Cas? He wouldn't even have the same name, that was for sure, and he couldn't help but wonder why him. Why he had been chosen to escape the choking environment that Azazel had grown up in, grown to hate so deeply- even nearly a year later, Cassius could still recall with chilling accuracy Azazel's rant about Iblis Teer- was still a mystery.

He gripped the handkerchief in his fist, feeling turmoil roiling within him. Why was he so special? Why should Azazel be truly half a demon but Cas... turn into what he was now, an angel and a djinn? There had to be some reason, and Cassius knew that this reason was the one he needed to bring himself peace of mind.

* * *

After much more fitful thought, a half-hour layover in Dubai, and a few westerns (which reminded him of old times with Holly,) finally Cassius and Buck had made it to Kolkata. One terrifying taxi ride later, the two were standing with some trepidation before the Temple of Ninety-five Domes.

"We should probably keep it low-key that we're djinn," Buck suggested, yawning after his nap. "People around here take stuff like that very seriously."

"Good idea," Cassius agreed, . "Besides, we don't have to stay here very long, just go in, talk to the green man, and get whatever info we can from him. Though to be honest, I don't know how much coherent advice we're going to get from someone we have to bribe with jelly beans."

Buck, who had already started into the temple, stopped short and turned haltingly around, a strange and ridiculously exaggerated expression drawn on his face. "Did you just make a _joke_?" He asked, in an equally strange and exaggerated way.

Immediately, Cassius felt self-conscious. "What?" He asked defensively, tugging at his mess of bangs. "I can make jokes too, you know."

"Yeah, but that one was actually sort of _funny_ ," Buck grinned, and punched Cassius on the shoulder in a brotherly way. "There might be hope for you yet, Golden Boy."

"Oh, come on, I was always funny," Cassius protested, grinning. "You just didn't appreciate my humour."

"Making science puns doesn't count as funny," Buck teased brusquely, and led the way into the temple, where they were greeted by three priests, wearing the white robes of a _sadhu,_ and standing before them as though they were waiting.

" _Namaste_ ," said the first priest.

"Welcome to the temple," nodded the second priest.

"You seem to have come a long way for such young people," observed the third priest.

Cassius and Buck exchanged an apprehensive glance. "I'm Cassius Malone," Cassius introduced himself cautiously, then gestured at Buck, "And this is my cousin Buck Sachertorte."

"I am Mr. Chatterjee," said Mr. Chatterjee.

"I am Mr. Mukherjee," said Mr. Mukherjee.

"And I am Mr. Bannerjee," said Mr. Bannerjee. "How may we help you?"

"We're looking for the green man who likes jelly beans." Buck explained boldly. Unlike Cassius, he'd had more than enough dealings with strange people like these three priests, and had long since become desensitized to weirdness like this.

"A green man?" Pondered Mr. Chatterjee.

"Who likes jelly beans?" Queried Mr. Mukherjee.

"That sounds very like the Green Dervish," explained Mr. Bannerjee.

A muscle in Buck's jaw twitched at the word _dervish_.* Seeing this, Cassius jumped in.

"Could we talk to him, please?" He asked politely.

"Certainly," said Mr. Chatterjee.

"Right this way," said Mr. Mukherjee.

"We will show you how to request his presence," said Mr. Bannerjee kindly.

The djinn boys followed the three priests through the temple until they were back outside, standing before a large and serenely still lake.

"You must use these lily pads," Mr. Chatterjee explained, gathering a few to show them.

"And these candles," Mr. Mukherjee offered a few lit candles to Cassius, who took them and absently ran his fingers through the tiny flames.

"And your jelly beans," Mr. Bannerjee nodded, and gestured out to the lake. "Send them all floating away and your audience will be granted."

Cassius and Buck frowned at each other. What kind of person was this Green Dervish anyway?

Aloud, however, they voiced nothing of their doubts. "Thank you," Cassius nodded politely to the priests, and elbowed Buck so he would follow suit.

Mssrs. Chatterjee, Mukherjee, and Bannerjee bowed in unison.

"We must leave you now," said Mr. Chatterjee.

"It wouldn't be proper for us to stay," said Mr. Mukherjee.

"Good luck with your audience, young ones." said Mr. Bannerjee, and the three left.

After arranging the candles so that they balanced on the lily pads, and having no small amount of trouble trying to get the packages of jelly beans open, (eventually Buck gave up and wished himself a pair of scissors,) Buck and Cassius finally sent off their little flotilla of offerings.

They watched the softly glowing lily pads as they vanished over the horizon, drifting with more purpose than lily pads ought to have, Cassius thought, but as they could do nothing but wait, he sat down on the sand, and looked up at the pale morning sky.

His cold had hardly improved since they'd arrived, though he was feeling warmer, at least. As such, and after having to try and follow the somewhat confusing conversation with the three priests (did they have to speak one after another like that at all times?!) as well as thinking at great length on the unpleasant topic of Azazel, Cassius allowed his mind to wander.

To his vague surprise, it wandered back to the exact spot it had wandered when he'd been flying the whirlwind to Jerusalem.

"What if we're all just a story?" He asked Buck, still looking up at the sky.

Buck made a noise like a bassoon. "Not this again, Golden Boy." He complained, rolling his eyes. "I don't need you to screw with my mind right now. It's screwed up enough as it is."

"No but really," Cassius explained earnestly. "I mean, just think about it, I suddenly find out that I'm related to all these big bad guys and I'm the only good one of the bunch- no offense, but to be fair you were technically evil before you got your good self back-"

Buck scowled. Cassius plowed on regardless.

"...And it all seems like the kind of stuff you read in novels, angels, demons, djinn, all of it. And Holly being Nimrod's long-lost daughter? That's a trope if ever I heard one."

"Man, you think too much." Buck plopped down on the sand beside him. "If we were characters in a book, don't you think the writer would make our lives less shitty?"

Cassius shrugged. "Maybe they're sadistic. Maybe all of this misery- like us not knowing who we are- is part of a larger purpose. You see that a lot in stories."

"Are you trying to foist responsibility for your actions off on a mysterious omniscient power?" Asked a serene male voice, and with a slight start of surprise, Cassius and Buck turned to see the powerfully built man sitting cross-legged on the back of a dolphin.

It was the teeth that tipped Cassius off at first. The Green Dervish's teeth gleamed snow-white behind his dark lips, so clean that they almost seemed unreal. Frowning, and trying to remember why he felt teeth were so important, Cassius flicked his eyes upwards slightly to meet the gaze of the Green Dervish's one visible eye- the other was hidden beneath a curtain of long, smooth black hair- and shivered immediately at the sight. The Green Dervish's eye was blazingly green, and held such power behind it as Cassius had only seen in... in...

"You're an angel," Cassius blurted before he could stop himself.

Buck jerked backwards, putting up an arm as if to ward off a blow. "What _another_ one?!" He demanded incredulously.

The Green Dervish chuckled benignly. "That I am. _Namaste_ , young djinn." He touched his little finger to the small emerald at his forehead, then turned the finger to the two djinn boys, who were then flooded by a gentle green light that warmed their bones and _neshamah_.

"We, uh, wanted to talk to you." Buck said uncertainly after the green light vanished.

"And I am here. Thank you for the jelly beans, by the way. But I don't believe we have met each other. Who are you?"

"Oh, sorry," Cassius apologized hastily. "Sorry, I forgot. I'm Cassius Malone." He elbowed Buck again.

"Buck Sachertorte," Buck nodded.

"Interesting," The Green Dervish smiled. "The son of Beelzebub and the son of Iblis Teer have come to seek my advice. But how did you know to come here?"

"The Voice of Wisdom told us," Cassius explained, uncomfortable with the offhanded mention of his father. Buck was scowling again, and Cassius guessed that he didn't appreciate being reminded of Iblis, either. "We're here for-"

"Guidance, yes, I could see it as soon as I laid eyes upon you both." The Green Dervish nodded. "And I shall offer you guidance, in exchange for a service done on behalf of the good people of this land."

"You couldn't just... point us in the right direction?" Buck asked hopefully.

The Green Dervish shook his head. "I have a duty to India, young djinn. I cannot ignore the plight of people in dire need."

"But you can apparently foist it off on us," Buck muttered darkly. Cassius elbowed him again.

"Didn't I tell you to be polite to angels?" He asked in a low hiss. Then, to the Green Dervish, he nodded. "What do you need done?"

"There is a demon terrorizing a small village near here. I would like you to get rid of it."

Cassius' polite smile froze on his face. "You want us to what?" He asked, hoping that maybe he had misheard because of his cold.

"Go and subdue the demon in the small village a ways away. The priests can tell you more. By the way, do you have any more jelly beans?"

Dumbly, Cassius offered the last half of a bag to the Green Dervish, who took it with a gracious nod of his head. "Return when you have taken care of the problem, and we can talk then. And one more thing, may I recommend that you go to the Siraj-ud-Daula Curry House for lunch? I hear that djinn such as yourselves enjoy the spicy _vasuki_ there."

* * *

 ** _Author's Notes: *_** _Buck has some interesting triggers, thanks to his brief career as a 13-year-old moron magician. #BlameIblis2k16_

 _Oh look, we're approaching my personal favorite part of the story soonish. :)_

 _(This is the part where my glasses glint and the innocent onlooker sees flames reflected in them. Yes, I am watching my fictional world burn.)_

 _~Lucinda_


	16. Chapter 15: One Thing At A Time

**Chapter 15: One Thing at a Time**

"Holly? Holly are you all right?" Holly twitched awake as Sarah shook her shoulder gently. Still disoriented from the vision, and still only partially awake, Holly took one look at Sarah and gave a small shriek, pushing her away.

"Holly, it's fine, it's me, remember I didn't die?" Sarah murmured soothingly, patting Holly's hijab.

"Is everything okay?" Casca leaned forward to see past Groanin's ample belly as it rose and fell with regular breaths- the man was snoring magnificently by now, completely unperturbed by what was going on across the aisle.

"We're fine," Sarah assured him. "Holly, you're safe now. You're awake."

Holly calmed considerably at the sound of Casca's voice, and after several deep breaths, nodded. "Where are my glasses?" She asked Sarah, who handed her the case in answer. Holly slipped her glasses on and stared blankly at the back of the seat in front of her, her mind abuzz with everything she had just seen.

"Did you have a vision?" Casca asked curiously. He knew that perplexed expression Holly wore.

Reluctantly, Holly nodded.

"What was it about?" Casca coaxed. Holly frowned.

"I... Couldn't say, really. But I think... I think a lot of it had to do with the Ifrit. I saw Dimme Teer doing something. But also..." Holly paused, shivering as she recalled the last, horrifying part of her perplexing vision.

"What?" Casca pressed, feeling urgent for reasons he couldn't quite articulate.

Holly shook her head. It was beyond words for her to try and describe the horrible sight of the man with mismatched devil eyes swooping towards her with killing intent, but perhaps she didn't need to use words of her own. In a shaky voice, she repeated the couplet that had been whispered to her. " _If one thing you understand,/ Flies have risen from the sand._ "

Casca froze, a look of horrified shock plastered across his face. Sarah's eyes were similarly wide and frightened. They exchanged a glance.

"Do you think-?" Sarah began, her voice soft and frightened. Casca nodded.

"Someone should tell Michael."

"What? What's up?" Holly asked, her voice a pitch higher than normal: all this ominous talk and distinctly unsettled glances were freaking her out, perhaps even more than the vision itself had done.

Casca tried to calm himself as he regarded Holly carefully. Should they tell her? They had a task to complete, was it really wise to introduce such troubling distractions as the return of Beelzebub? Or would she be even more distracted by the lack of a proper answer?

 _Doubt breeds hesitation_ , he could hear Michael's words again in his mind,* and realized with a start that he had to tell Holly the absolute truth of the matter.

"It means that my problematic father is back in action." Casca sighed, folding his arms and putting on a very good imitation of an exasperated expression, masking his true panic.

Holly's face drained of its blood in record time. " _What_ ," she said, apparently unable to process this horrendous news. "But I thought... without Joshua's blood... He couldn't, right?"

Casca shook his head. "The binding was already weakening, and he had four out of the five blood sacrifices he needed. Not having Joshua's blood delayed his release, rather than preventing it."

"What are we going to do?"

Casca looked at Holly in faint amazement. Though her face was still pale with fright, her jaw and brow were set in determined lines. He'd only been an angel properly for a couple of months, but the difference in power between himself and a djinn was more incredible than he could have imagined. And the mere thought of Beelzebub's return had him shaking in his boots- whereas Holly, an inexperienced djinn even if she was a prophet, was bravely stating that they would take care of this problem like it was nothing. Well, not nothing, perhaps, but she probably felt like dealing with demons would be the same as dealing with Azazel.

So was it courage, then, if she was ignorant of the danger?

Casca eventually broke the eye contact and looked out of his window at the land below them. "One thing at a time,"* He said, a bit more forcefully than he would have liked. "First we get Iblis' help, and then we'll worry about the real demon."

Holly chewed on a fingernail, and glanced over at the snoring Groanin. "Should we tell Mr. Groanin at least about this? Or call Nimrod? Or Dr. Godwin? Someone who might be able to do something while we're busy?"

"I wouldn't worry Mr. Groanin," Sarah murmured in a low voice, glancing at the man, "He's nervous enough as it is dealing with us angels. I hate to think how he might react if we were to tell him that a major demon was once again on the loose."

"You have a point," Holly conceded. "Poor man, I didn't mean for him to get dragged along with us in the first place."

"It's too late to be feeling sorry for him now," Casca pointed out. "And we can't do anything until we've landed- not even call Nimrod. So it's best if we just complete the task at hand."

"You're a lot less easily distracted these days, aren't you?" Holly observed. "A couple months ago, you'd have dropped everything and started us off on a mad journey even farther than China. Or else you'd be running around like a chicken with its head cut off. Which, incidentally, I am _desperately_ fighting the urge to do that myself."

"Oh, I expect the djinn me would do those very things if he knew about this. It's a good thing he doesn't, though, because I suspect that it would only end in bloodshed if he were to involve himself with demons." Casca nodded sagely. "In any case, Holly, are you prepared to deal with another Ifrit? Not just any, Iblis Teer was the leader of the tribe for well over half a century: he has plenty of tricks up his sleeve."

"It can't be any worse than letting Azzy run around loose." Holly replied firmly. "And I mean, we've met Dimme, how bad can her brother be?"

Casca laughed nervously. "Plenty worse." He said. "By comparison, Dimme's experience in life has made her capable of working well with people an Ifrit normally wouldn't think of associating themselves with. From all accounts, however, Iblis is very set in his ways. Don't forget that it was he who disowned Dimme for my existence. It was also he who swore bloody revenge on John and Philippa as well as your father for bottling him up a few years ago, and it was him who caused Buck to lose his powers."

Holly nodded. "Got it, he's the Big Bad. Except compared to demons, this guy sounds like a fluffy bunny rabbit. You're not going to faze me, Cas. Cassius says that this is the only way we can take Azzy out of action, so we're doing it. Simple as that."

Casca frowned uncertainly. "Ah, yes. Of course." He nodded, once again silencing his doubts of the true origins of the letter.

"Anyway, I wonder if Nimrod has noticed I'm gone yet. He'll probably be worried..." Absently, Holly began again to chew on her fingernails.

Several thousand miles away, Nimrod was also chewing his fingernails. "Where is that butler of mine?" He muttered peevishly to himself as he wandered through the cluttered hallways of his unreasonably large house. "It's not like Groanin to go wandering off."

He turned abruptly as he heard the telltale creak of the front door: Alexandra and Mark had returned from the hospital. Hurrying through the halls, Nimrod rushed to greet them- surely Groanin would have opened the door, and Nimrod could berate the butler for being so dreadfully hard to find- only to discover that Alexandra and Mark were alone in the front hall. Alexandra looked peeved, as per usual, and Mark still looked dazed from his tumble down the stairs, a clean white bandage wrapped tightly around his head and a medicine bottle clutched tightly in his fist.

"Nimrod, where on _Earth_ has that useless butler of yours got to?" Alexandra asked, steadying the swaying Mark with deft hands. "No one was here to answer the door."

"I don't know!" Nimrod frowned, feeling more than a little upset. "It's as though he's vanished into thin air!"

"Have you asked Holly? Where is she, anyway?" Mark asked, walking carefully over to the staircase and sitting on the steps.

"No, I haven't." Nimrod's frown deepened. "She's holed up in her room, I believe, after I... ah... said something that upset her."

Alexandra glowered at him wordlessly for a full six seconds before she stepped daintily upstairs and to Holly's room. Gently, she rapped on the door, her irritated expression vanishing.

"Holly? Are you in there?"

There was no reply. Alexandra frowned and tried the handle. It was unlocked. "Holly?" She called again as she pushed the door open. Cautiously, she ventured into the dark room and flipped the light on- the room was empty but for the faint lingering of tobacco smoke hanging in the air. A feeling of trepidation forming in the pit of her stomach, Alexandra picked her way through the small piles of belongings strewn over the floor-mostly books and some of the presents from earlier- but stopped when she noticed something quite odd: Holly's bed had been neatly made. Since Holly almost never did this herself (it only happened after she changed the sheets or if Alexandra happened to wander in and make it herself,) Alexandra knew that something was off. A neatly folded sheet of paper on the pillow weighed down by one of the new books told Alexandra that wherever Holly had gone, this had been planned. Not wasting any more time, Alexandra snatched the letter from the pillow and hurried downstairs, taking large steps and moving heedlessly.

"NIMROD!" She shouted down the stairs, even as she took them two at a time.

Nimrod and Mark looked up from their conversation, immediately worried.

"What is it, Alexandra?" Nimrod asked, his brow furrowed. "Has something dreadful happened to Groanin?"

Alexandra narrowed her eyes and brandished the sheet of paper at him. "Forget your butler, how could you let something like this happen- _when you were at home, no less_?!"

A bit befuddled, Nimrod took the letter, readjusted his glasses, and read out loud.

" _Dear Parents and Mark, (and Mr. Groanin, too, of course)_ " he read,

" _Don't worry, I'm fine. I got a lead on how to stop Azazel for good, and Casca and I are following up on it. I'll be back soon, thank you for the birthday party and presents._

 _Love, Holly._ "

After he finished reading, Nimrod stared blankly at the sheet of paper, as though the purple ink might offer some more explanation than the words had. His head pounded with a sudden migraine. "Again?" He asked helplessly, of no one in particular.

Alexandra glared at him. "What do you mean _again_? Holly has vanished from right under your nose _before_?"

"Multiple times," Mark supplied helpfully.

A vein twitched in Alexandra's temple. " _Really_." Was all she said, though in that one word was the promise of one thousand years' destruction if Holly did not return safely.

Involuntarily, Nimrod took a step backwards, and glanced back down at the note. "Still no clue to Groanin's whereabouts," he muttered, tense but still disappointed.

"I'd say wherever your butler has gotten to is his problem, wouldn't you Nimrod?" Alexandra said through gritted teeth. "I'd say that our first priority is finding our daughter, _wouldn't you, Nimrod_?"

Not wanting to risk the unholy terror of an angry Alexandra, Nimrod nodded. "Yes, of course," He added hastily, gripping the letter in his fists so tightly that his knuckles were turning white. "I-I-I'll just use _odorari_ and we'll find her in n-n-no time."

"Yes," Alexandra agreed, with narrowed eyes and ice in her voice. "You will."

* * *

 _ **Author's Notes:**_ _I am so behind on homework it's not even funny. Okay, to business: First off, being the warrior archangel, Michael must always speak as though he's in a war movie. Of course. Second, Apparently in some Jewish stories, angels can literally only do one task at a time. Need to do two things? Send two angels. The reason for this is that angels apparently have only one leg, like the Hoppers from Dorothy and the Wizard (The fourth Oz book). There may be some Platonic roots to this, which you might get if you've read Plato's Symposium and had an idea of ancient Greek humour. And Holly is so good at writing detailed letters to make sure her parents don't worry about her, isn't she? Anyway, sorry this is kind of late, but I am behind with everything in my life and it's terrible, so leave me a review why don't you?_

 _~Lucinda_


	17. Chapter 16: An Awkward Family Luncheon

_tw: murder mention, ugly bruises_

 **Chapter 16: Awkward Family Luncheon**

The Siraj-ud Daula Curry House, located next door to Kolkata's general Post Office, smelled spicy and inviting to the two djinn boys. Well, it smelled inviting to Buck and the sharp taste that lingered in the air (unless Cassius was very much mistaken,) helped to clear his sinuses a bit.

However, when they entered the crowded curry house, things began to go wrong.

To begin with, they had to fight their way past a crowd of people leaving, being hurried out by the employees, even as more took their place (this was clearly a popular spot,) and as such, Cassius and Buck had to wait longer than either would have liked, though Cassius was more inclined to feel forgiving towards the profusely apologizing staff. Eventually, however, and long after they had pored over every square inch of the hand-drawn map that the three priests had given them to help them find the demon, another profusely apologizing employee showed them to a table, apologizing again and again in heavily accented English for the wait and also because the only available space was at a table for four that already had a pair seated at it.

"It's fine," Cassius assured the worried young man calmly, though his stomach rumbled uncomfortably. "We don't mind at all."

Buck tapped on his elbow. "You want to look at who we're sitting with before you make that decision, Golden Boy?" He asked, nodding towards the pair at the table: an awfully familiar-looking blonde woman with delicate dark hands that gesticulated elegantly as she spoke to the somewhat stout Chinese-American man (with an enormous yellowing bruise colouring over half of his face) across from her.

Cassius stopped dead in his tracks. "Dimme."

Her back to him, Dimme froze, mid-sentence. Slowly, as though she couldn't quite believe what she'd just heard, she rose to her feet and turned around, facing Cassius with a strange and melancholy expression on her face.

"Son," she smiled hesitantly. "Nephew. Please, join us."

"Ah! How fortuitous!" The young staff member smiled nervously, sensing the tension in the air. "You are family- please, sit down and I will take your order."

Cassius and Buck glanced at each other before taking a seat: Buck next to Dimme, and Cassius next to Bart. They each ordered a bowl of _vasuki_ , the hottest curry available, and one that was suitable only for djinn, and the table simmered with tense silence as the waiter hurried away.

"So, Cas, how have you been doing?" Dimme asked, as evenly as she could.

Her attempt at civility immediately backfired, and Cassius' delicate temper flared. "Who gave you permission to call me that?" He asked sharply, green eyes narrowed and once again feeling that strange sense of hatred that was so new to him but seemed tied definitely to his estranged biological family. "What gives you the right? You killed my parents. Holly and Mark's parents, too."

Dimme winced, as though his words had physically hurt her, and she closed her eyes patiently. "Many pardons," She offered calmly. "I didn't realize that what your angel self said did not also apply to you. Shall I go back to calling you Castiel, then?"

"It's Cassius now." Cassius informed her coldly. "And what are you even doing here?"

"Hiding. Obviously." Bart explained lazily, leaning back in his chair. He looked over at Buck. "By the way, kid, I haven't forgotten this." He jabbed a finger at the enormous lead-pipe-shaped still-purple-in-the-middle bruise on his face.

Buck winced. "Yeah. Sorry about that." He apologized awkwardly as Cassius continued to glare at Dimme and she looked into her drink as though it was the most fascinating thing in the world.

"Hiding from what?" Cassius asked sternly.

"From your brother, who else?" Dimme replied coolly.

"I don't know, my recently resurrected demon father?" Cassius shot back. Immediately, Dimme's eyes opened as wide and round as saucers and she stared in blank terror at him.

" _What_ ," She articulated carefully, though it was clear she was dizzy with terror at the mere prospect.

"You heard me right." Cassius said coldly. "And there's this angel lady named Azrael who he got to track us and Azazel down."

Dimme's alarmed and worried expression grew worse. "An angel? Not a demon?"

"She said she was the Angel of Death. She also said that she wasn't going to tell him where I was."

"And what assurance do you have to that end?" Dimme asked urgently.

"Why would she lie to me about that if she told the truth about working for a demon?" Cassius asked logically. "Anyway, it's you you ought to be worried about."

"I _am_ ," Dimme cried plaintively, even as four bowls of _vasuki_ were delivered to their table. "Bart, we need to revise our entire strategy. We need to disappear _completely_."

"You're telling me," Bart nodded, glancing suspiciously around the crowded restaurant as he began to eat.

Cassius bowed his head in silent prayer, praying not only out of habit to bless his food, but also reciting a silent prayer for patience. He felt like he'd need it.

"By the way, Cassius, what business do _you_ have in Kolkata? Gone to see the Green Dervish? I wouldn't put it past you." Bart asked, waiting politely until Cassius had finished praying.

"We're going to get rid of a demon after lunch." Cassius explained stiffly between bites. "Which reminds me, Dimme, I need to know everything you can tell me about binding demons."

" _You're doing WHAT_?" Dimme asked, slamming her palms onto the table so hard that the dishes rattled.

"Exorcising a demon. I've read plenty of books about it."

Dimme's eyelid twitched as she stared with disbelief at her youngest son. "Reading and doing are two very different disciplines, son."

"Which is why I'm putting my pride aside for the moment and asking you for advice." Cassius said with a dispassionate expression as he ate his _vasuki_. It was really doing wonders to clear his clogged sinuses. "But I can do just as well without it."

"This is a minor demon, isn't it?" Dimme asked, worrisome.

"Yeah," Buck jumped into the conversation. "It's possessing someone."

Dimme looked from one boy to another uncertainly. At long last, she seemed to make up her mind and nodded. "I'm going with you. Bart, you can start packing everything without me, can't you?"

"Everything's already packed. We're constantly on the move, what's the point of unpacking?" Bart muttered with some annoyance. "But if that's a thinly veiled attempt to leave me out of the action, I appreciate it. I don't want to get involved with any sort of demon, thanks. I'm not a fool. But are you sure, I mean..." He eyed Cassius and Buck slightly apprehensively, as if unwilling to reveal a secret. "You do have other things to think about now."

"I'll be fine, Bart, don't you worry." Dimme smiled briefly at him then turned her attention back to the boys. "So where is this demon?" She asked in a businesslike manner. Cassius was outraged.

"You can't just invite yourself along!" He protested, while Buck concentrated on his _vasuki_ , unwilling to take part in the blossoming family drama.

"I am your mother and believe it or not I do actually care for your safety, Cassius." Dimme admonished. "Not to mention Dybbuk here-"

"Just Buck," Buck interrupted out of habit.

"-Is my nephew. Even if my brother never felt anything for him, he still ought to have acted more responsibly. As such, I have a duty to uphold as an aunt."

"You really don't," Buck mumbled, as Cassius slammed a fist onto the table.

"You have no right to proclaim yourself as a responsible parent!" He hissed, his face flushing with righteous rage. "You _murdered_ my _parents_!"

Dimme's lips tightened. "I have said I'm sorry about that." She said primly. "But it wasn't my idea."

"Oh, so now you're pushing the blame off onto Azazel?" Cassius laughed derisively. "Why is that not surprising? Oh, wait, it's because you don't care about anyone but yourself. You can cut that bullshit about 'caring for my safety,' because it's not working. You're a terrible mother, and a terrible person. I don't want anything to do with you!" He rose from his seat, only to be pulled back down by the sleeve by a quick-thinking Bart.

"Stop making a scene, kid." Bart ordered, calm in the face of Cassius' justified anger.

"Scene? What scene? I'm just sharing the _truth_ with everyone." Cassius ranted, feeling quite out of control. "If you can't handle the heat, get out of the kitchen. That's what my dad used to say- before she _burned_ him to death."

"Hey, Cas are you feeling okay?" Buck asked, a bit concerned by his cousin's out of character behaviour.

"Aren't you sick of sharing a meal with a murderer?" Cassius turned to rant at him. "Don't you feel _anything_ knowing that she killed five people- at least?"

"Hey, he killed me once," Bart pointed out, before Buck could get a word in edgeways. "And you're hanging out with him no problem."

Cassius turned a steely green glare Bart's way and the Ghul fell silent.

"Look, Cas, I know it sucks and I don't like dealing with Teers as much as you do, after the shit that Iblis put me through, but sometimes you gotta compromise. If I learned anything from sleeping through history class it's that nothing gets done without some kind of compromise." Buck spoke up at last.

"Thank you voice of reason." Dimme nodded sagely. "So I reiterate: where is this demon?"

Cassius looked away, feeling betrayed and conflicted and more than a little confused with himself, zoning out as Buck explained about the tiny village they were bound for after lunch.

As though hearing his thoughts, Dimme spoke again, in a quiet and calm voice, though perhaps the edges were tinged with melancholy. "You've changed quite a bit since we last met, Cassius." She observed.

Cassius said nothing, and merely concentrated on his _vasuki_.

* * *

 _ **Author's Notes:** Happy Easter, you all! Let's go slay a demon to celebrate! ...Well in 2+ weeks, anyway. Also, never underestimate an evil djinn's ability to compartmentalize their psychological trauma. :)_

 _~Lucinda_


	18. Chapter 17: Into the Past

**Chapter 17: Into the Past**

"Bloody mobile phone," Groanin muttered irritably, punching the Nimrod's telephone numbers into the keypad quickly before his battery died, only to be treated to a robotic voice informing him that he was unable to make a call from Xi'an. "I don't even know why I carry this blasted thing around." He complained, more loudly as the four of them waited for their luggage to appear on the carousel. "It's useless." A sudden thought struck him and he peered suspiciously at Holly. "You wouldn't have anything to do with this, would you Miss Holly?"

Holly, who had been rather subdued since they'd landed- not that she'd tell Groanin why- shrugged. "Mr. Groanin, I know you're not that tech savvy but you have to stop blaming every little thing that goes wrong with your electronics on djinn. If you want to tell Nimrod where I am I think there are pay phones somewhere that way." She gestured listlessly across the terminal at a row of nearly obsolete pay phones.

"I don't have any ch-" Groanin began to protest, but Sarah interrupted him as politely as possible.

"Here you are, Mr. Groanin. And as long as you're calling Nimrod, I'd appreciate it if you explained that I am here chaperoning. Thank you." Sarah smiled at him, slipping several Chinese coins- called Yuan- into his hands and giving him a little push towards the telephones.

"Ah... Thank you, ma'am. I shall tell Nimrod everything." Groanin nodded and wasted no time in hurrying over to the nearest pay phone and making an international call.

As his luck usually went, no one picked up. Not that he'd particularly expected anyone to pick up the phone: it was early afternoon in China, but Groanin's internal clock told him that it was still very early back in England. So instead of waiting for anyone to pick up (though he couldn't have known that even now, Mark, Alexandra, and Nimrod were all currently on a plane following them to China,) Groanin left a message on the message machine Mark had insisted that they get. It felt strange, talking with no one there to listen.

"Nimrod, sir, it's Groanin. Holly's fine. We're in China- Xi'an, I think." He shuddered involuntarily. "Just being here gives me unpleasant memories, you know. I'm not sure why we've come here, and the others won't tell me, like as not because I'd be obliged to report it to you. Highly suspect, if you ask me. Incidentally, it's a long story, but we're in the company of... I suppose _part_ of young Cas- I believe it's similar to what happened to that lad Dybbuk- and Holly's stepmother Sarah, who apparently is an-"

" _Your call has been disconnected. Please add more Yuan to continue._ " A robotic, slightly accented voice chirped in Groanin's ear.

"-Angel." He finished, his shoulders drooping as he realized he'd used all the Yuan Sarah had given him already. Frowning, he hung the receiver back on its hook and headed back to his companions.

"Will you tell me now why we've come here?" He asked, loudly enough to make the gloomy trio of Holly and the two angels jump with surprise. Sarah put a hand to her heart.

"My goodness- you came all this way without knowing?" She asked innocently. Groanin frowned.

"With all due respect, ma'am, I wasn't about to let two teenagers vanish into the unknown without adult supervision. But I think it's time we get things straight, don't you?"

"He does make a point." Holly conferred with Casca, hiding her words behind her hand, as though Groanin couldn't hear every word she spoke anyway. "We're too far along to be stopped now. Should we tell him?"

"I don't see why not." Casca nodded, and turned to Groanin with a clear, innocent expression that Groanin found disconcerting, though he couldn't quite place why. "We're going to go resurrect Iblis Teer." He explained candidly.

Groanin blinked. "What was that?" He asked, certain that he must have heard incorrectly.

"Iblis Teer. We're going to bring that loser back so he can put a diminuendo binding on Azazel." Holly explained, just as matter-of-factly as Casca.

Groanin's ears rang. He couldn't believe or process what the two were saying- bring back Iblis Teer? After all the trouble he'd caused? After all the lives he'd taken? But surely it was impossible- Nimrod had seemed to think so, after all- and besides that, wasn't Casca supposed to be an angel? Why would they even think of bringing back such an evil djinn?

"I don't think you know what you're saying," Groanin said, helplessly trying to sort out his inner voice, malfunctioning as it was in a big way.

"We do." Casca assured him with a serene smile. A chill ran down Groanin's spine and he felt his palms begin to sweat.

"But... he's... _evil_." Groanin protested weakly, wishing that they'd had this little discussion before he'd called Nimrod. That way he might have been able to scream the urgency that was currently running circles in his mind. "Besides, it's impossible, isn't it?"

"Impossible for a djinn like me." Holly explained kindly. "But Casca's an angel now. And I guess we have Sarah, too. Don't worry, they got special permission from Mac-"

"His name is Michael." Casca explained exasperatedly. "Or Mikhail, if you want to translate it into Arabic."

Holly tilted her head. "But it's so much more fun to come up with silly nicknames."

Casca sighed.

Feeling faint with disbelief at his current predicament, Groanin turned to Sarah for some sign of sympathy- some sign that this was all some kind of terrible and cruel joke. Sarah smiled at him cheerfully. "Shall we stop by the hotel first or go straight to the exhibition hall?" She asked, as though this was a normal vacation and not a slapdash plan to free the most dangerous djinn in the world up until three years ago. Naturally Groanin gaped at the three of them with shock, disbelief, and more than a little horror.

" _Miss Holly Imelda Godwin_ ," He said, using her full name in a vain attempt to exude some sort of parental authority in the absence of Nimrod or Alexandra. "Iblis Teer was the most evil, wretched, conniving djinn that your father ever had to deal with in his time as leader of the Marid, and it took a long-dead djinn as well as some mystical tablet of command to seal him away for good! Do you have any idea- any of you- what sort of mayhem that... that... _Ifrit_ caused? What sorts of grand schemes he very nearly accomplished?"

Holly rolled her eyes dismissively. "Yeah, yeah, he wanted to reverse the luck of the entire world and mess with everyone's wishes- but really, Mr. Groanin, who is the greater evil, Iblis who just wanted to screw with everyone, or Azazel, who wants to kill everyone and rule the world in fire and brimstone?"

"We don't actually know if that's what he plans to do," Casca stepped in helpfully, "Just... well, it sure seems like those are his plans. He's already tried to burn Europe to the ground."

"Besides, Nimrod didn't have angels blatantly helping him out all the time. Nor was Iblis beholden to him for a favor- like he will be for us once we release him. If you don't think I'm going to milk that little factoid for all it's worth, you don't know me very well, Mr. Groanin."

Groanin frowned, his forehead wrinkling uncertainly. "But Iblis Teer?" He asked, still inclined to incredulity. "Why him? Aren't there other djinn capable of whatever you want him to do?"

"Probably, technically speaking." Casca mused. "But Iblis has another strategic advantage over others: He's Azazel's uncle. He has the means to get close to Azazel without him suspecting the true motive: even if Azazel actively tries to kill Iblis, it'll work to our advantage."

"Yeah, great, can we quit talking about it already and get this over with?" Holly asked impatiently, causing Sarah to chuckle.

"We should drop off our bags first," Sarah decided, and led the way to the taxi cabs, Holly and Casca following like ducklings, and Groanin was left standing in the terminal, stupefied beyond all words at the horror that was unfolding before his disapproving eyes.

* * *

The main exhibition hall was much as Groanin remembered it: full of rows and rows of faded terracotta soldiers, some shattered completely, others missing an arm, a head, or a shoulder, still others in near-perfect condition. It was slightly less creepy, however, and this was in part due to the fact that it was not the middle of the night, as it had been when Nimrod had dragged him, John, and Finlay McCreeby there to foil Iblis's dastardly plans three years ago. Also helping were the few tourists milling around, looking down at the mass grave and taking photographs. However, even in the clear light of the afternoon filtering in through the windows and the lights shining on them from overhead, everything was the same shade of deathly ashen grey, something that Groanin, remembering those soulless creatures that had served as Iblis' henchpeople, found eerie still.

"And how are we going to go into the secret chamber without being noticed, eh?" He asked his company in a harsh whisper. "Can't very well waltz through an ancient secret door in front of all these people, can we?" He felt slightly triumphant. Surely this meant that they would be forced to delay these foolhardy plans, and he might have time to call Nimrod again and beg for help in stopping this madness.

However, as Groanin soon learned, angels were single-minded when it came to the completion of a task.

"Ah, it's simple!" Sarah smiled, and, taking Holly and Groanin by the hands, she led the way down into the pit, over the railing and floating through the air as though the three of them had become as light as feathers. "Follow me, Casca. And you two, don't let go of my hands or we'll be seen."

Groanin, who had begun to sweat nervously the very moment that Sarah had taken his hand (he was all too aware of what an attractive woman she was, and was equally aware that this was Holly's stepmother, and moreover, an angel,- the awkwardness level only kept rising-) froze uncomfortably, but Holly seemed to be enjoying herself as they drifted, ghostlike, through the rows of clay soldiers towards the secret door with the ancient Chinese equivalent of 'open sesame' inscribed upon it.

"Care to do the honours, Casca?" Sarah asked, her cheshire-cat grin never fading.

Casca nodded solemnly and stepped forward, lifting his chin and speaking in an authoritative voice. " _Kai shen_ ," he uttered, and the secret door- the gateway to so many horrible memories for Groanin,- slid open quietly. Casca slipped through the crack, followed by Holly, who pulled Sarah along by the hand, and by extension, Groanin was dragged once again into the secret caverns of Emperor Qin.

* * *

 _ **Author's Notes:**_ _Well well well looks like Groanin summed up the problems with Holly's little plans quite nicely here. Yes indeed, Iblis Teer is certainly evil and this is certainly an enormously flawed plan. Too bad Holly never listens. :)_

 _~Lucinda_


	19. Chapter 18: The Demon at the Rectory

Chapter 18: The Demon in the Rectory

Cassius followed Dimme in stony silence as she strode into the small rectory. Buck trailed behind the both of them, looking and feeling uncomfortable with the whole situation. With the two teenagers hovering sullenly at her elbows, Dimme slammed a palm down on the desk of the parish secretary, who sat typing up documents on an old, long-since obsolete typewriter.

"How may I help you?" The woman asked coolly, looking up from her work without so much as a flinch.

"We're here to exorcise a demon. Where is it?" Dimme replied in a businesslike manner.

The secretary frowned at the three of them. "Demons do not possess people. And moreover, you three are not priests of any sort, let alone Catholic."

"Don't toy with us," Dimme's lip curled with vague disgust at the secretary's superior tone. "These boys have it from the Green Dervish himself that there's a demon in this parish."

The parish secretary regarded Cassius, who was attempting unsuccessfully to disappear into his coat, and Buck, who returned her gaze as though he viewed it as a challenge. Her nose wrinkled in vague disgust, but she nodded. "Talk to Father Desai. His office is the first door on the right. Mind you knock, now." She gestured down the hall to her right, and that was all it took for Dimme to march right up to the modest door bearing the placard Father J. Desai, Pastor and throw it open. Cassius and Buck trailed after her, like reluctant ducklings, and filed into the small office as the grey-haired priest looked up from his paperwork.

"Please, sit down," He smiled warmly, gesturing to a set of chairs in front of his desk, though there was a hint of strain behind his kind, dark eyes. "How may I help you? Are you looking to convert?"

This question brought three very different responses from the three djinn: Buck shook his head wildly, his heavy bangs flopping back and forth as he grimaced expressively, Dimme snorted with derisive disgust, and Cassius explained quietly

"I'm already Catholic, Father."

Father Desai's bushy grey eyebrows rose closer to his receding hairline. "Then what might I do for you?"

Dimme sat in one of the chairs, crossed her legs, and folded her arms. "There's a demon in your parish and we're here to get rid of it." She explained point-blank and without beating around the bush. Her approach was so direct that Cassius grimaced inwardly as he took a seat beside her and Buck followed suit.

Father Desai's already strained smile became even more strained. "I was rather hoping that we had managed to keep that quiet. How did you hear about Father Keer's predicament?"

"It's another priest who has the demon in his head?" Buck asked, with some interest, while Cassius' eyes went wide with faint horror and sympathy.

"We came from the Green Dervish," Cassius explained, before Dimme could be too candid and unfeeling again. "But he never mentioned who was actually possessed. Just that they were in this parish."

Again, Father Desai's eyebrows rose. "Pardon me for saying so, but I would have expected something a little more heaven-sent, rather than a woman and two teenage boys. Again, pardon, but I wonder what could you do about a demon that I and my brother priests have not already done? Even now, we await an exorcist while Father Keer is, as far as anyone else knows, far too sick to rise from his bed."

Dimme rolled her eyes. "What can we do? Oh, I don't know, maybe actually get rid of the demon for you?" She snapped irritably. "How long has this priest been possessed, anyway?"

Father Desai frowned at her rudeness, but answered politely. "Father Keer has been indisposed for nearly three weeks now, though I believe him to be possessed for longer than that."

"Is he a djinn?" Dimme asked.

"A what?" Father Desai frowned.

"A djinn. Don't pretend like you don't know what I'm talking about." Dimme snapped again.

Father Desai bowed his head, either praying for patience or in shame. "No, Father Keer is merely a mortal man. A young man who chose to walk the path of the Lord and is now being tormented by a demon in the most unfortunately literal sense."

"And what made you realize that he was possessed by a demon?" Dimme asked, ignoring the priest's melancholy, obviously driving towards a point that neither Cassius nor Buck could yet see. "Was it odd behaviour or outright magical witchcraft mumbo-jumbo, speaking in tongues, etc.?"

"There was..." Father Desai drifted off, as though this was a painful subject for him to discuss. "There was a sudden and definite change in personality." He explained with fortitude. "Father Keer began to preach a terrible perversion of the Gospel, teaching that murdering all heretics was the only way to assure the path to heaven. He sent people home from Mass in tears, conducted Confessions by explaining exactly how even the most venial of sins was unforgivable in God's eyes. He began speaking in strange bouts of gibberish. He-" Father Desai's voice cracked and the wrinkles deepened in his weathered face as he tried not to weep. Clearly, reliving this memory was very upsetting for him.

"Well, if he hasn't been performing feats of hellish magic, then there may still be a chance that he hasn't been burned through yet." Dimme mused, regardless of Father Desai's evident grief.

Father Desai frowned at her. "'Burned through?' What do you mean by that?"

"Yes, do explain that. I don't think I've heard of it before." Cassius' interest perked up at the unfamiliar phrase.

"Why, it's simple. When it's possessing a host, a demon gives off some small amount of hellfire, which in turn can physically or metaphysically burn through the host until the body or the soul is utterly destroyed. Of course, there is some variety in how the hellfire affects a host, sometimes it only affects one's body, other times it attacks parts of the soul, and very rarely it destroys both."

Father Desai's distracted frown deepened. "I've never heard of this."

Dimme looked at him coldly. "And exactly how much experience do you have with demons, preacher? I'd warrant that the possession of this priest is the first time you've ever encountered one outside of books."

"Is that how you lost your powers, then, when Magnus and Joshua died?" Cassius piped up curiously, earning a suspicious look from Father Desai and a harsh glare from Dimme.

"Discussion later, Cassius." She admonished. "First we create a plan of attack. We'll need a few things."

Despite Dimme's aversion, Father Desai's dark eyes widened with sudden realization as he looked at the three of them. "It can't be... You three people are djinn?"

Dimme and Buck both winced as though the priest's words hurt them, though Cassius kept a straight face and nodded truthfully. "We are, Father. And we've come to help as much as we can."

Father Desai looked dumbfounded for a moment before nodding gratefully. "Truthfully, even if you had been as powerless as I seem to be, I would be most grateful for any and all assistance. The sooner Father Keer returns to normal, the sooner we may both help the good people of this parish."

Dimme rolled her eyes, grimacing at the kind and unselfish sentiments that she, as an evil djinn, simply did not share. "Yes, yes, let's get on with it. Besides," she turned her attention to the two boys, "the sooner I teach you two to fight demons, the safer you'll be in the long run. Especially you, Cassius."

Cassius scowled and looked away. "Let's just get on with it; the quicker we do this, the faster we can go our separate ways." he muttered, annoyed that Dimme was still taking such a morally superior (though still somehow undeniably evil) stance.

"Yes, take us to this Father Keer fellow, and we'll see what we can do." Dimme ordered, rising from her chair with an authoritative air. Father Desai nodded and rose to his feet as well.

"Of course. Follow me."

* * *

 _ **Author's Notes:** Guess who's coming back next week~~_


	20. Chapter 19: Tomb of Jade

**Chapter 19: Tomb of Jade**

Holly gawked at the enormous jade pyramid that sat, imperiously collecting dust and overseeing the shattered remains of more grey terra-cotta warriors as they, too, collected dust, resting around a gleaming silver lake.

"Holy cannoli," she muttered to herself. "So I do remember this place after all."

Groanin, who was nervous enough to find himself back in this place, was surprised to hear this. "What's that, lass? You've been to this godforsaken place before now?"

Holly shrugged modestly. "As a spirit. Plus I was trapped inside that thing," she pointed to the jade pyramid and grimaced with faint revulsion. "I never did like jade."

"I was always careful to keep you away from things like jade and iron," Sarah reminisced. "Jade is talismanic to djinn, and particularly to the Marid. It could have made you quite ill."

Casca crouched down at the edge of the stagnant silvery lake and prodded it experimentally with an index finger.

"Careful there, sonny, that's mercury!" Groanin cautioned, quite alarmed by Casca's actions.

Casca, ignoring Groanin's warning, scooped up a handful of the mercury and rolled the liquid metal around in his hands for a few moments before letting it pour back into the lake. "Yes, Mr. Groanin, I know. And you should be careful, as it's toxic to humans like yourself. Holly, you be careful, too. There's an old binding still lingering in this lake, meant to trap djinn."

"What kind of binding?" Holly asked, pulling her bag off of her shoulder and rummaging around for her _SBR_.

Casca shook his head. "I don't know the name." He looked over to the adults. Sarah shook her head.

"I'm not as well-versed in djinn matters as all that," She admitted as Holly flipped through to the 'M' section of the index of the _SBR._

Groanin frowned. "It couldn't be the binding that them despicable Ifrit put here, could it?"

"It's only a few years old at most," Casca offered. "So it is most likely that. Why, do you remember what sort of binding it is? And how we might proceed without Holly getting affected?"

Groanin screwed up his face, trying to remember the strange name of the binding. "It's not 'enantodromia,' that's the wish reversal thingy," He mused. "I know it started with a vowel..."

"Ha! Got it!" Holly announced triumphantly, and turned the hefty book around so her companions could read the page she had opened to. "Right here, it's an _adli- adleh-_ " She checked the passage at which she was pointing. "Okay, _adligare_ binding. It's made with mercury and- _eew_ \- djinn spit."

Groanin's eyebrows popped up. "Aye, that's it!" he nodded, grinning at the small mystery they had solved. Then his smile vanished. "Though if I recall, it makes djinn like you subject to the will of the owner of the binding. I think that was how that unpleasant boy put it."

Holly looked again at the passage describing the binding. "Looks like it works like a djinnhibitor, except a bit more so with the controlly aspects." She frowned. "That might be bad news if we go through with this plan without dealing with this thing first."

"We could always _not_ go through with this wild plan of yours, Miss Holly." Groanin suggested, with little hope that he would be heeded. "We could turn around now and go back home _without_ releasing the world's most dangerous djinn from his extremely justified imprisonment."

"Oh come on, Mr. Groanin!" Holly complained, suddenly struck with faint annoyance. "Where's your sense of adventure? Where's that brave butler who went on so many adventures with dad but never once tried to run away?"

"That was then, missy." Groanin snapped, his fragile nerves getting the better of him. "Then I didn't have much of a choice, did I? But this..." He gestured widely at the mercurial lake, the shattered pottery, and the green pyramid. "This is a foolhardy plan if ever I saw one. Besides that, Nimrod was there, and he's much more powerful than-"

"Groanin we have two angels on our side today. We're perfectly safe." Holly shot back. "So I don't really think it's that relevant that Nimrod's way stronger and more experienced with this kind of stuff than I am, even if it's true. But you know what's also true? I know how to negate the _adligare_ binding." Without hesitating, because quite honestly she feared she might become embarrassed and lose her nerve, Holly gathered a bit of phlegm into the back of her throat and then spat it as far as she could into the lake. Irritably, she snapped the _SBR_ shut and stuffed the tome back into her bag. "There. Now it won't affect me at all. But you should still be careful, Mr. Groanin."

"Oh, I'll be careful of the mercury, all right." Groanin muttered darkly. "It's you what should be careful, missy, because you're the one who's going to be in major trouble when and if we ever get back home."

Casca and Sarah exchanged a bemused glance. "Well," Casca spoke, breaking the sulky silence that followed the argument, "Let's press on, shall we? I'll lead the way, just in case there are more traps meant for humans and djinn."

"Good idea." Holly nodded, and followed her angelic friend, not bothering to look back at Groanin, who was picking his way carefully around the shore of the silver lake, cautious of even the smallest stray drop of the toxic metal.

When they reached the pyramid, Holly was slightly surprised to see that it was not constructed in the usual manner: indeed, Iblis had definitely added a certain modern flair- glass doors, a sleek steel elevator, a comfortably modern lobby that looked like something taken straight out of an expensive five-star hotel from Las Vegas. As with the outside, everything in the lobby was covered with a thick layer of dust that stirred up around their footsteps and made Groanin sneeze several times. However, as they stirred up the dust on the floor, Holly noticed even more mercury- a thin layer that covered the ground like a carpet of liquid opals.

"I say, this place could do with a good dusting. Or a thorough vacuum. Is it even possible for this much dust to accumulate in only three years?"

"You'd be surprised what happens when you get too behind on housework, Mr. Groanin." Sarah said, cheerfully cryptic.

Holly, meanwhile, was glaring at the elevator doors, feeling annoyed. "I hate elevators." She complained to Casca, who nodded sympathetically.

"I know. I was, too. Do you have a charcoal pill? You're probably going to need one anyway, with so much jade around. Does it make you uncomfortable?"

"Kind of," Holly admitted, cautiously setting her bag down on the dusty mercury-covered floor and searching through it, this time for her charcoal pills. She found them, popped one in her mouth, but paused before putting them back. Thoughtfully, she drew out her new pipe from its box and stuffed a bit of tobacco into the bowl. Sticking the pipe between her teeth, she lit it once again with a small flame from the tip of her finger, and finally nodded. "Okay, I think I can deal with an elevator now." She said, puffing away at the pipe.

Groanin looked scandalized, an expression that Holly had thought he'd grow tired of using on this trip, but apparently he hadn't. "And just what do you think you're doing, lass?!" He asked with righteous shock.

Holly shrugged. "Smoking. What's it look like?" She blew a smoke ring and frowned at its ordinariness. "I wonder how Nimrod does all those crazy shapes."

"You're sixteen years old, though! What would your parents think- what would _Mark_ think?"

"Mr. Groanin, I'm a djinn, smoking is good for me. Ergo, Nimrod and Alexandra won't care about my smoking. And as for Mark... he can deal with it." Holly shrugged, following Casca into the elevator that operated as smoothly as though it were brand new.

"Where did you even get a pipe in the first place?" Groanin asked helplessly, following suit and entering the elevator behind Sarah as Casca held the door for them.

"Birthday present from Cassius." Holly explained cheerfully, blowing another perfectly ordinary smoke ring. She reached for the panel of buttons, but was caught quite by surprise when Casca smacked her hand away. "What was that for?" She asked indignantly.

"It's keyed into your DNA, probably because Iblis would have wanted to prevent Nimrod from meddling. From now on, don't touch anything. That goes for you, too, Mr. Groanin. Mrs. Coomes, it might be advisable for you to take on a light form for now."

Sarah nodded and began to fade into a glow until the whole elevator was lit by a warm light that had no apparent source. Groanin shrank away from the walls with alarm.

Casca nodded. "All right, here we go." He said, and pushed the button labeled **Control Room**.

The elevator shot up, so quickly that Holly felt nauseous despite her pipe and currently digesting charcoal pill. As it slid to a stop, Holly nearly tripped and fell into Casca, who caught her and helped her balance without comment. The elevator doors slid smoothly open, and Casca led the way into the control room, near the apex of the pyramid, where, before a vast and extremely dusty most certainly deactivated control panel stood two identical jade coffins filled at the seams with gold that glistened in Sarah's warm, noncorporeal light.

Casca strode to the nearest coffin, raising a hand with authority. " _Odo, od iolci malpirg_ ," He commanded, and instantly, the gold seams began to crack loudly until, at long last, the jade scales burst apart, clattering against the tiles and flying in all directions. Holly gave a small yelp and hid behind Casca to avoid a few pieces, which he allowed to hit him without so much as a flinch.

Groanin looked on with horror as black smoke rose from the remnants of the coffin, swirling and undulating until it took on a form... or two forms, it seemed. As one fell away from the smoke, the other rose to its unsteady feet, and Holly nearly screamed aloud when she saw that the fallen form was a rotting corpse, and her nails dug into Casca's shoulders as she bit her tongue.

The still smoking figure shook his vaguely-formed head, clearing away what was left of his smoke to reveal-

Fair hair that curled smoothly and was speckled with dried blood.

Green silk pyjamas that were tattered and torn and soaked through with blood.

Dusky skin that was marred by angry scars, scars left by powerful animals.

Dark, wicked eyes that glared with bloody murder at them.

"Who the hell are you?" Iblis Teer asked.

* * *

 _ **Author's Notes:** Well well well look who finally showed up. More antics to follow. Also: Happy Birthday to Madame Reveuse! Side note: can I dropkick Iblis across the Atlantic to you? It's been five seconds and he's getting on my nerves already._

 _Just kidding. He has a job to do._

 _~Lucinda :)_


	21. Chapter 20: The Exorcism

_tw: demonic possession, a fair amount of violence, and foul language_

 **Chapter 20: The Exorcism**

Father Keer looked normal. He acted normal. He held himself as a normal man would. He was even sitting up in an armchair, reading the Bible.

Father Desai, holding the door, held back, looking quite hesitant. "Here he is," he announced in a low voice, as though he didn't want to disturb Father Keer and the demon possessing him, but nonetheless, Father Keer looked up and smiled pleasantly at the four of them.

"Father Desai, you've brought me visitors! How delightful."

Cassius felt his stomach lurch as the possessed priest's head swung like a marionette's to look at the three djinn. Cassius' nerves further abandoned him when he noticed that the bible that Father Keer had been reading was upside-down and every page was blacked out by a large marker.

Dimme stepped forward, regarding the priest emotionlessly, attempting to gage how much of a threat the demon posed.

Father Keer's pleasant smile widened into a sinister grin. "Well, well, this _is_ an honor. Beelzebub's bitch, Beelzebub's bastard, and the little djinn that could." Shadows flickered on the wall, where there should have been none, the electric light crackled alarmingly overhead, and Father Desai took a step back, now looking at everyone as though he no longer knew who he should fear.

"P...Pardon me, but I am a hemophiliac, if I get injured it will be very difficult for me to..." Father Desai mumbled weakly, edging slowly towards the open door.

"Leave," Dimme snapped at the priest, and Father Desai wasted no time in dashing for the relative safety of his office.

Dimme and Buck scowled identically at the demon, but Cassius couldn't move. He was frozen in his boots, shaking like a leaf with sheer terror at the enormity of what he was seeing before him.

Cassius didn't know if what he was sensing was the result of being half-angel for most of his years, if it was some sort of residual sensitivity from his other self, or if it was his imagination running wild and getting the better of him, perhaps it was just the alarming sense of wrongness that came simply from seeing a priest in his black uniform uttering such foul language, but Cassius' internal sense of danger was going wild. _This was not something he could win against. This was suicide to fight._ Behind Father Keer's lifeless brown eyes glinted shadows- oh-so-familiar shadows just like those that had torn Cassius apart, those that filled his unconscious mind, shadows that he could do nothing about-

Cassius knew he was on the verge of a nervous breakdown, but a sudden thought struck him with distinct annoyance: _If I can't deal with this footsoldier, then how am I going to deal with Beelzebub?_

Thankfully, his irritation pulled him out of his panicked stupor and turned his attention to the tense conversation that was happening with or without him.

"And to what do I owe the pleasure, pathetic djinn?" the demon asked, his eerie smile never once wavering. "Care to make a deal?"

Irreverently, the demon shut his desecrated bible and flung it across the room, where it smacked against the wall and left a sharp dent. In a smooth, but also strangely loose movement, the demon rose to Father Keer's feet and took a shaking step towards them.

"A deal? With a third-rate demon like you?" Dimme snorted with much bravado, though Cassius noticed that she moved protectively between the demon and the two boys. "Hardly. No, you're such a worthless sack of shit that we decided to get rid of you."

The demon stared at them, its blank smile never wavering. "The Lord of the Flies is looking for you two, you know. And I'm sure he wouldn't mind if I had a djinn's soul for a snack. I hear a _neshamah_ is very filling."

Dimme's eyes flickered with a strange sort of brightness. "Boys? _Now._ "

Just as they'd discussed, Buck and Cassius lunged past Dimme and emptied the contents of the small buckets they'd been hiding behind their backs up onto the demon's head- holy water from the church. The demon hissed and the water steamed, boiling against Father Keer's skin. Cassius shouted the words of the Lord's prayer, first in English, then in Latin, as Dimme shoved beads- prayer beads, rosaries, as many sacred strings of beads as there were religions, and then some- onto father Keer's wrists and around his neck.

The demon, rendered wordless, screamed and tried to claw the beads away, flailing madly. " _You think you've won?!_ " The demon shrieked harshly, shadows escaping from its lips and nostrils, trying to leave its tormented vessel. " _There's still a thousand and one ways I can make your pitiful lives miserable, chosen of Beelzebub or no!_ "

Cassius backed away to avoid Father Keer's flailing arms, moving towards the curtained window and stepping away from Dimme and Buck, who still stood near the door.

As though sensing weakness, the demon swiveled abruptly towards him, and again, Cassius couldn't help but freeze up. Shadow poured from every orifice of Father Keer's face- his eyes, ears, nose, and mouth spewed darkness.

" _Son of Beelzebub or no_ ," it hissed, and charged towards him with frightening speed, so quickly that Cassius didn't even know when the two of them burst out of the second floor window and began to fall-

* * *

Cassius woke blearily among shards of broken glass and dusty dirt. He remembered falling from the window- pushed by the kamikaze demon,- and he remembered babbling what he thought were going to be his last words, though he had no idea what they were now. He didn't think he'd been smart enough to use his focus word, though. He tried to move, tried to get up and analyze his surroundings, but he found that everything hurt. He felt like a broken china doll and wondered if he was truly not facing imminent death.

"Cassius?" A distant voice called. Cassius' head spun. He knew that voice. "Cassius?" A gentle hand cradled his face and turned it slightly. His bleary eyes met concerned brown ones, and Dimme sighed with relief. "You're alive, thank goodness. Buck, get over here and fix him up. He's broken a few ribs at _least_."

"Just _what_ are you people doing?" Asked an indignant and rather abrasive female voice. As Dimme helped Cassius to sit up, supporting him with her delicate arms, Cassius saw the parish secretary marching over to them with a vengance. "I heard glass break, then a thump, and then you two come running down the stairs like schoolchildren- _oh my goodness_ ," The secretary put her hands up to her mouth with horror as her eyes began to comprehend the scene. Her eyes flicked a ways away from Cassius and widened even further. "Father Keer!" She exclaimed, and dashed to his side just as Father Desai hurried outside to ascertain what the commotion was all about.

Without a word to the three djinn, Father Desai knelt beside his fellow priest, murmuring prayers under his breath.

Father Keer's eyes fluttered open.

No shadows poured forth.

He was back to normal.

"My word," Father Keer remarked mildly, sitting up, groaning, and looking around at all the worried faces. His kind dark eyes lingered on Cas. "Young man, I believe you have saved my immortal soul. You have my somewhat inadequate thanks."

Cassius felt his rather bruised face flush and he looked away modestly. "I was just doing what I was asked," he mumbled, and winced. Dimme was right: his ribs were broken.

"You both must go to a hospital at once," the secretary announced in a matronly fashion that she was clearly unaccustomed to adopting.

Cassius shook his head. "I'll be fine," he said, wincing even as he assessed his own internal damage. If he thought carefully, he could rid himself of his injuries with a single utterance of his focus word. "APOGEOTROPICAL," he mumbled, and instantly, his pain settled into a dull ache, a ghost of what it had been. Satisfied that he could move around without feeling like he needed to collapse, Cassius pushed Dimme's arms away and stood. "Come on, Buck, we should head back to Kolkata before it gets dark."

"Oh, please, won't you stay for dinner?" Father Keer interrupted coaxingly. "Please, the least we can do is offer you a meal."

Father Desai looked less certain, but nodded in agreement. "Though Father Keer must be going to a hospital, he is right. We would very much like it for you to stay for dinner, as a way of expressing our humblest gratitude towards you."

Dimme frowned at the flowery language and at the prospect of lingering in one place longer than was absolutely necessary. Buck shrugged apathetically: a meal that required no effort on his part to put together and moreover was free was something he had learned never to turn down in his post-Jonathan Tarot days, the times when he'd had no power of his own. Thus, with the jury split as it was, it was up to Cassius to decide. Truth be told, however, he'd decided the same moment that Dimme had frowned.

"We'd be delighted to join you for dinner, Father Desai."

* * *

 _ **Author's Notes:** I should be doing my homework... I'm turning 20 this Friday and yet I'm less responsible about schoolwork than I was when I was turning 10... Uh... anyway, have this lovely chapter of Dimme kicking ass etc. etc. etc._

 _bye_

 _~Lucinda_


	22. Chapter 21: One Condition

**Chapter 21: One Condition**

"I reiterate: Who the hell are you?" Iblis Teer asked irritably, stretching out his stiff joints. "I suppose I _ought_ to thank you and all that rot for releasing me, but to be honest with you, I'd rather turn you all into some sort of vile animal. Also, I was rather expecting one of my sons to release me. They'd better have a damn good reason for not doing so."

"I'd advise against animal transformations, Mr. Teer." Holly piped up, still halfway hiding behind Casca. "My friend here's an angel. But you know, I have to say, it is really refreshing to find an evil guy who doesn't inexplicably know my name and who I am." Bracing herself and trying not to look at the dead, halfway decomposed body of Adam Apollonius, Holly stepped forward with enough false bravado to fool the Devil himself. Which, in a sense, was exactly what she was trying to do. "My name is Holly Godwin, this is my pal Casca, and the human back there with the knocking knees is Mr. Groanin. We have something of a proposition for you."

Iblis opened his mouth and ran a claw-like fingernail along his teeth, his wickedly clever eyes darting at each of them in turn. He examined the slightly greenish blob he collected before flicking the plaque off onto the floor. "And just what might a goody-two-shoes Marid, an angel that should be up in Heaven or wherever, and Nimrod's fat butler have to interest me, hm? Speaking of, where is that doofus, anyway?" He asked lazily, though in such a way that made Holly think that perhaps he was more interested than he was letting on. Slightly disappointed, Holly frowned.

"So you do know something of me, after all."

"Don't flatter yourself, girl. It doesn't take a genius to put two and two together. You have the same surname as that dolt Nimrod. His butler is following you around, yet Nimrod himself is nowhere to be seen. And that nose," He gestured rudely at Holly's face, "is quite unmistakable. Clearly you're a close relation of Nimrod's and therefore, a Marid. Now, tell me before I lose my very limited patience, for what purpose exactly are you trying to recruit me?"

Groanin looked quite stricken to be recognized, and at Iblis' quite correct observations about Holly. Casca, by contrast, maintained the same tranquil expression he'd had since they'd entered the control room. "Holly thought you might like an opportunity to foil your nephew's grand schemes. To spite him, perhaps. We have information that you're quite adept at _diminuendo_ bindings." He offered helpfully.

Iblis regarded the three with lazy amusement. "And what's to stop me from avenging myself on those who stuck me in that bloody jade sarcophagus in the first place? I could start with Jeeves over there, as he's so conveniently here."

Groanin edged closer to Casca, who pointed out reasonably, "Well for starters, Kublai Khan is long dead."

Holly, meanwhile, was puffing angrily away at her pipe and questioning whether or not letting Iblis loose was really what they ought to have done. Not ten minutes had passed and already he was annoying her more than Azazel ever had. "If you try, I'll take it as an invitation to seek my own revenge, Mr. Teer. You remember how the little scheme that landed you in that jade coffin worked? You stole the souls of innocent kids." Holly cracked her knuckles as menacingly as she could manage. "One of which was me. I take offense to that, you know. Besides which, the people you say you want to reap vengeance on happen to be _my family._ So if you don't help us deal with your _goddamn nephew_ , then you can kiss this world goodbye, because you're in for a _world_ of _hurt_!"

Casca laid a hand gently on Holly's elbow. "Calm down, Hol," He muttered soothingly. Iblis merely chuckled.

"Ah, the empty threats of a child. How droll. And tell me, Marid, what are you going to do to punish me? Use your powers? Bottle me up like Nimrod did? Oh, oh, let me guess, you're going to give me a stern talking-to, aren't you?" Iblis' laughter grew until he fairly shrieked with derisive chortles.

Holly scowled. Then she smirked. "You ever met a cheesed off archangel?"

Iblis sobered, but a condescending smile still played across his harsh, scarred features. "No," he said, "in point of fact, I have never met an archangel, cheesed or no. But tell me, girl, what's a djinn like you doing, tangling with angels?"

Holly's smirk widened, and she waved her pipe around, trailing a thin line of smoke through the air. "That's for me to know and you to find out."

Iblis' condescending smile slipped into a frown. "You Marid. Always taking it upon yourselves to be as irritating as possible."

"Funny, I thought that was a job for you Ifrit." Holly shot back without missing a beat, sticking the pipe back between her teeth and looping a finger around the stem, feeling rather self-satisfied.

Iblis sighed and rubbed his temples, too lazy to think up a suitably snide comeback. He was off his game. So he changed the subject. "Speaking of irritating, what _is_ my nephew up to these days, anyway? The last I heard, my son Jonathan had bottled the stinker up."

"Much has transpired since your incarceration began," Casca announced sagely. "Not only has Azazel been released from his imprisonment, but he has taken it upon himself to orchestrate a War between Heaven and Hell, and intends that all those who dwell on this Earth are caught up in it. Not to mention," He added, a note of slyness creeping into his previously pragmatic tone, "He has managed to free his father from his imprisonment."

There was a pause, as though neither Iblis, nor Groanin (to whom this terrible news was new,) quite seemed to comprehend what Casca meant. Then, at the exact same moment, both men burst into streams of loud swearing.

"I _told_ Dimme that that little-" Iblis said, swearing some more. Holly and Casca exchanged an apprehensive but slightly amused glance.

"That bugger has done it this time, that's for bloody certain!" Groanin exclaimed, panicking now more than ever, and fiddling with his hat in distress.

"-Was nothing but trouble, especially for me!"

"What in God's good name are we supposed to do now, by heck-?" Groanin cried, wiping his sweating forehead with his handkerchief.

Iblis, after a pause for breath and quite ignoring the butler, suddenly looked cunning. "What about my sister's other son? Hasn't he turned up and fixed everything yet?"

Holly and Casca exchanged another glance, this one quite suspicious, even as Groanin muttered to himself.

"He's certainly been trying," Holly said evasively. "But after the last confrontation they had... he's not quite been himself. It was him, though, that led us to you."

"Shame." Iblis said, though he sounded not at all concerned by this information. "Though I suppose he was good for something, after all. But that's why you've come to me, is it? To beg for my help. How very quaint."

"Lose the attitude, Mr. Teer." Holly ordered primly. "Tell us, are you going to help out or are you going to go back in that jade coffin?"

"You're not really giving me any choice in the matter, are you?" Iblis fretted, then sighed regretfully. "Oh, very well. As much as it pains me to team up with a Marid, much less one related to Nimrod and those terrible twins, this _is_ Azazel we're talking about. I'd love to squash that little imbecile's head like a grape and just be done with it, but I don't think my baby sister would appreciate that very much. Oh, perhaps I ought to mention that my son Rudyard is still imprisoned over there." Iblis gestured vaguely across the control room at the other, slightly smaller jade sarcophagus.

"We're aware." Holly said dryly.

"Good. Then let him out."

"I don't feel like it." Holly returned stubbornly.

"Hol," Casca said resignedly. Holly turned to him and explained herself.

"I can only handle one evil guy at a time, Cas. And anyway, have you _noticed_ how annoying he is?"

"That's no reason to deny a merciful hand, Hol, and you know it." Casca reprimanded with a gentle smile. He turned to Iblis (who was smirking with no small amount of self-satisfaction at this,) and his expression hardened. "Will you be able to control Rudyard if he is released?"

Iblis shrugged carelessly. "Perhaps, but who knows. He is a teenager, after all."

"Well gee, that sure is comforting." Holly rolled her eyes with irritation.

Iblis pulled a small Swiss Army knife from his breast pocket (the pocket somehow was still mostly intact,) and began cleaning the dirt from underneath his fingernails, as though he had all the time in the world. "I wouldn't expect you to understand, but I'll put it in small words to make it easier for you. Rudyard is my son. We have a responsibility to each other. He helps me with my work, I get him out of scrapes caused by his lack of experience. It was like that with all my sons." He looked at his hands more closely, as though he'd only just noticed something.

Holly couldn't help herself. Her temper flared. "Except for Buck. He was just your pawn, right? For all you cared, he could just go and waste all his powers for the sake of your dumb plan!"

Iblis, still frowning, perplexed, at his own hand, glanced at her from the corner of his eye. "Ah, yes, Dybbuk. He did have potential, but he was headstrong and foolish. Besides, he served his purpose." Iblis' frown deepened, as though he was uncertain of his own words. If Holly was willing to pay attention to the subtleties peppering Iblis' speech, she certainly would have picked up on the nuances, but as it was, Casca had to forcibly restrain Holly from lunging at the Ifrit and clocking him in the eye. Recognizing his advantage, Iblis laughed cruelly.

"My, my, a little... _hot-tempered,_ are we? You must have been friends with him, then. Tell me, how is he doing these days?"

"Buck's fine, no thanks to _you_." Holly spat angrily.

"Holly, calm down," Casca coaxed anxiously, as Iblis returned his perplexed gaze to his hands, muttering something that sounded very like

"Good," under his breath.

"Don't forget, we need his help." Casca continued.

Iblis looked up again and regained his self-satisfied smirk that now held just a touch of relief. "Yes, listen to your angel friend. You need my knowledge of Azazel and my _diminuendos_ , or you're all doomed."

Casca frowned, and with a sharp glare that held power, Iblis was shoved by an invisible force several feet backwards, the power making him stumble clumsily backwards in order not to fall over.

"Don't test my patience, Ifrit." Casca ordered sternly, his voice booming slightly in the confines of the control room.

Holly stopped struggling for a moment and froze. Groanin stopped muttering with panic. Silence permeated the control room for several long seconds before Holly dared to speak again.

"Cas, could you let my arm go now?" She asked hesitantly. Casca nodded and loosened his grip, allowing Holly to take back control of her arm.

Iblis, who looked both a little scared and a little peeved, brushed himself off, trying to maintain what dignity he could- he thanked his lucky stars that he hadn't fallen flat on his backside like a child. He cleared his throat before addressing Holly, Casca, and Groanin again.

"All other matters aside, I have one condition for my assistance with this matter. Release Rudyard, and we'll both help you get rid of that pest to djinnkind, Azazel, you have my word. My binding djinn promise. Now, do we have a deal?"

Holly glared at him and crossed her arms. "Fine."

* * *

 _ **Author's Notes:** Well I'm 20 years old now and I'm as completely done with Iblis for that asdl;hgaosrgn pun as I was when I first wrote that_

 _Also Holly has no chill_


	23. Chapter 22: Red and Black

_tw: murder, bit of gore, probably blood_

 **Chapter 22: Red and Black**

Some time later, after an ambulance had come and taken Father Keer away and the paramedics had fussed over Cassius for a bit before ascertaining that he was not hurt sufficiently enough to warrant hospitalization, Father Desai and the secretary called the three djinn, who were waiting (impatiently, in Dimme's case,) in the foyer. Unlike the two boys, who had gotten bored long ago and started reading their books (Cassius was working his way steadily through _Ulysses_ , whereas Buck had stuck his nose in a copy of _The Sea of Monsters_ with a great deal of enthusiasm; strange, considering that Buck hadn't seemed the type to read) Dimme noticed when more people- mundanes, even without her powers, she could always tell- began to filter into the rectory. Poor people, their faces pinched with hunger, some of the women carrying toddlers or infants at their hips. At first, Dimme wondered what such people were doing at the rectory- but then she remembered that this was a church- churches did do-gooder things like feed the poor, didn't they? All the same, the extra company made her uneasy. Also making her uneasy was the knowledge that they hadn't destroyed the demon that had been inhabiting Father Keer: merely driven it out. That might have been an end for people like Jesus, people who were satisfied with the rescue of the moment, but Dimme had dealt with demons long enough to know that the only way to stop their future endeavors was to kill the demon itself.

And those words that Cassius had shouted as he'd fallen- she'd barely heard them, but what were these words so powerful that they drove demons out, even demons so weakened as that one had been? Her memories of the moment were so jumbled with fear and panic that the words she did remember made no sense: _In the beginning was the Word, and the Word was with God, and the Word was God_. God was nothing but a word? Perhaps, but the existence of angels and demons seemed to indicate otherwise. She was glad, though, that Cassius had come to no harm.

Dimme hoped that Azazel had come to no harm as well.

They were complicated, these motherly feelings, and in recent times they had often clashed directly with her instinct for self-preservation.

Why had she helped Azazel, even when it was his plan to resurrect Beelzebub (and by all accounts succeeded,)? He was her son and she loved him.

Why was she now helping Cassius, even though he resented her deeply, a resentment that bordered on hatred? He was her son and she loved him.

Despite everything, despite her fear and loathing of their father, Beelzebub, despite Bart's continued pleas as a voice of reason to _stay out of it, it's dangerous_ , Dimme knew that she'd do anything to have her sons- both her sons, exactly as they were- live in harmony with her and with each other. It was a silly, unrealistic desire, Dimme knew, she'd known the moment she'd met Cassius- then Castiel- that such a thing was impossible, and yet-

"Ah, please, everyone, dinner is ready." Dimme was torn from the reverie that she hadn't been aware she'd slipped into by Father Desai's kind voice. "Tonight we have rice and chicken tikka masala. We thank everyone for joining us; we will pray in the dining room."

"Is Father Keer recovered yet?" One of the mothers with a child at her hip and another holding her hand asked, to a general murmur of agreement from the others assembled. Father Desai's warm, kind smile turned slightly strained.

"He is now in the hospital, but expected to make a full recovery in due time. Rest assured, Father Keer will return to us just as he was before his illness."

There was a murmur of happy cheers from a few people, which Dimme observed with slight disgust.

"Come now," Father Desai clapped his hands and his warm smile returned. "Let us go say our grace in the dining room."

The parishioners filed past Father Desai, and Dimme, Buck, and Cassius followed with a little more hesitance. Father Desai allowed Dimme and Buck to pass by, but put out a hand by way of detaining Cassius for a moment. "Young man, I'd like to speak with you for a moment."

A little surprised, Cassius glanced towards the dining room, where Dimme and Buck had stopped to look back at him. Dimme was frowning. Cassius' stomach rumbled. "You mean now?" He asked uncertainly. Father Desai nodded.

"Yes, now. I need to clear something up with you."

"Don't those people need to pray?" Cassius continued.

"My secretary can lead the prayer. Come now, this will only take a moment." Father Desai led the way back to his office and sat behind his desk, inviting Cassius to sit in the chair opposite with a wave of his hand.

"What is this about, exactly?" Cassius asked, feeling a little apprehensive. Being summoned like this reminded him of being sent to the principal's office at school.

"I feel I must apologize." Father Desai announced earnestly. "When that... _demon_ that made Father Keer not himself called you- pardon the language- 'Beelzebub's bastard,' I could not help but think that you were a thing of evil, a despicable, wretched being."

"Father Desai, blood ties don't dictate who you are-" Cassius began, but the priest cut him off.

"And instead I find that you are a kind, polite young man who knows his scripture and his prayers like the back of his hand. You'd make a good priest, you know."

"I..." Cassius began, but trailed off. It wasn't as though he hadn't considered the possibility of the priesthood, but there had always been something stopping him from absolute certainty that he could do such a thing. Now that he thought about it, that thing was probably himself- his djinn self. It was probably his angelic half that was fascinated by such a vocation.

"What a disappointment you are," Father Desai's voice, so warm and kind before, turned hollow and cruel. Cassius jerked his head up and his eyes met Father Desai's dead eyes- _the demon_ \- Cassius barely had time to register before a hand closed around his throat, choking the breath out of him as he struggled in vain against superhuman strength. Shadows bubbled and flickered against the walls, boiling and swirling where they should not have been. The demon possessing Father Desai began to cackle triumphantly.

"Oh, yes, it's me still." The demon assured him. "Quote the Gospel of John at me, will you? Boot me out of my host when I'm weak? Well just try it, sonny, I've had hours to heal up, and this priest's soul is quite nourishing. Filled with so much kindness for me to corrupt."

Cassius, still trying to push the powerful hand from his throat, glared wordlessly at the demon, his eyes communicating all he needed. The demon laughed again.

"Oh, you may be angry, young bastard, but don't worry; I won't kill you. I'd never kill a son of Beelzebub, even one as worthless as you. _That_ would be suicide. You're probably wondering why jump out the window, then? Well, to provide a distraction, of course!" The demon cackled maniacally. "I'll take you to the Boss myself. He'll promote me for sure."

An image of those terrifying red eyes flashed before Cassius' vision, wrenching his stomach down to his feet and his heart up to his throat, where it too began getting strangled. Cassius was feeling light-headed; he couldn't think of anything but the deep-seated feeling that _this mustn't happen_. In a last, desperate attempt to toss the demon off of himself, Cassius balled his fists and pounded, ever more weakly, at his assailant's torso.

The next moment, blood poured out onto him from a deep stab wound- a wound that was currently occupied by an all-too-familiar green tinged knife, buried almost to its hilt. The blood soaked Cassius' forearms even as his oxygen-deprived brain attempted to process why there was suddenly a hilt buried in Father Desai's torso.

Its grip weakened, the demon let go of Cassius' throat, and Cassius backed away, clutching at his throat and gasping for breath, his head spinning and frankly incapable of comprehending what the scene before him meant.

Azrael's knife.

Driven into the demon's heart.

Into Father Desai's heart.

The demon choked on Father Desai's blood, and stumbled, gasping, and clawing at the dagger desperately, only to have his hands blister at the touch of the hilt. It looked up at Cassius, its expression at first dire, panicked, and pleading, but the demon seemed to think of something, and it began to laugh with undisguised hysterical mirth, blood soaking the priest's cassock,shining wetly on the black material, blood spilling from Father Desai's mouth, nostrils, and eyes, spraying everywhere with the laughter.

Horrorstruck, Cassius backed away even further until he was right up against the door- _no, this can't be happening..._

" _You killed a priest, demon-child!_ " The demon exclaimed with glee, and toppled over onto the floor just as the door was forced open by Buck.

"What happened?" Buck asked in a shout, while Dimme looked over all the blood that had pooled on the wooden floor around Father Desai's shallowly-breathing body, and at the blood that stained Cassius' forearms and red and lay in small, dark spots on his face and tomato-red shirt.

"Are you hurt, Cassius?" she asked.

Cassius couldn't think. His ears rang, his vision swam and his stomach lurched.

"Golden boy, what happened?" Buck asked.

Cassius could only shake his head.

"Where did that dagger come from? Is this the doing of that demon?" Dimme asked urgently.

Cassius looked down at his hands; they were covered with Father Desai's blood.

The noise in his head grew louder.

It kept growing louder until he couldn't even hear what Dimme and Buck were saying. The noise was so loud that Cassius barely registered when Buck finally noticed Father Desai's lifeless body and fell painfully to the ground in a dead faint at seeing the corpse. It was so loud that he couldn't hear his own footsteps as he bolted from the room, ran from the rectory and out into the dying afternoon light.


	24. Chapter 23: IHOIG

**Chapter 23: International House of Ifrit Grumps**

Rudyard Teer woke up feeling disheveled. His temples throbbed with a painful migraine and something smelled terrible. Like rotting meat mixed with a locker room. Not to mention he was lying on a cold marble floor in a puddle of liquid that was even chillier. When had that happened? Was this what having a hangover was like?

Rudyard opened his eyes and squinted past the obnoxious amount of light that was flooding the control room; really, too much light for a secret underground chamber, even if it did have electric lighting. Grunting, he sat up and noticed the source of the rotting meat smell: a man's half-rotten body. The locker room smell, Rudyard guessed, came from himself. Ignoring the body (corpses had stopped being horrifying or interesting a long time ago for an Ifrit like Rudyard,) he looked up at the familiar man in tattered green pyjamas.

"What's going on, dad?" he asked Iblis.

Iblis glanced down at his son. "Oh, good. You're awake. As for what's going on, you'd better ask _them_." The Ifrit gestured with obvious disdain at the three other people in the control room, one of whom Rudyard vaguely recognized as Nimrod's mundane butler, though the other two seemed to be teenagers about the same age as him. At least, he thought they did. Upon further reflection, Rudyard found he had no idea what year it was.

"Your cousin Azazel is trying to take over the world and also possibly kill everyone in the process." The girl, who was wearing a hijab and smoking a pipe explained concisely. "Also, in case you were wondering, it's been three years since you and your dad here got yourselves stuck in those jade coffin things. Hi, my name's Holly."

"I think you have things a little backwards, Hol," her friend said quietly. He looked familiar somehow, but Rudyard couldn't quite place why that was: he was certain they'd never met. All the same, the boy straightened up and smiled at Rudyard in a revoltingly pleasant manner. "Hello, I'm Casca. You're probably very confused right now-"

"The hell I am!" Rudyard interrupted. He hated polite people, usually on principle, but there was something about this Casca guy and his overly neat appearance that made Rudyard inclined to feel that this was a special case: someone to hate particularly spitefully. "Why the hell should me and dad have to do anything for you two chumps?" He scrambled to his feet and stood by his father, bristling with indignation.

Holly frowned and glared at Rudyard. "I know we're not here to be best friends, but I expect at least a little cooperation, Rudy."

Rudyard grimaced at the nickname, but Iblis seemed mildly amused. "Are you sure? We could be allies at least, Marid. You seem more conniving and willing to get things actually done than the rest of your tribe."

Rudyard was horrified. "Dad! She's a _Marid_?" Rudyard asked with great disgust.

"I can hear you, you know." Holly complained loudly. Iblis shrugged.

"Her friend is an angel." He explained, running a hand through his tangled hair and frowning as he encountered several knots.

Rudyard, if it was even possible, was more horrified. " _And we're just going to help them?_ "

"It's your cousin screwing up the world, nitwit. And in case you hadn't realized, the world now includes the both of you." Holly explained impatiently.

"Yes, yes, we get the idea, we'll go and take care of the problem now," Iblis waved a hand dismissively as he helped his son to his feet. "Ta-ta and all that idiocy."

"Hold it!" Holly cried, pointing at the two of them with an accusatory index finger. Iblis paused, though it was clear he had very little interest in what Holly had to say.

"What is it, Hol?" Casca asked curiously.

"How do we know that you're not going to just disappear without taking care of the problem? How do we know that you won't just return to doing evil and ignore the fact that Azzy needs to be taken out of commission, huh Mr. Teer?"

"The assurance that I always keep my sworn word isn't enough for you?" Iblis asked, with a raised eyebrow. "Hm. It seems that you're less naive than I had suspected. Very well, what do you suggest?"

Holly glanced at Rudyard and smirked. She pointed at him. "Collateral."

Iblis' other eyebrow raised. "You really are more conniving than the rest of your tribe. Well done."

"Don't think you can distract me with pretty words and praise, Mr. Teer. I want collateral, or you're going right back in that coffin."

Rudyard frowned. "Dad, what does she mean, 'collateral?'" He asked.

Iblis' smile took everyone a bit by surprise: it was a smile of someone unquestionably in control of the situation. "She means you, Rudyard." He explained, without breaking eye contact with Holly.

"Yep. Even if you _are_ the most annoying kid on the planet." Holly nodded, satisfied that she seemed to be getting her way.

Iblis sighed melodramatically. "Very well, since you don't trust me at all, I suppose there's nothing I can do but hand over my dear son to your capable care."

"I thought we discussed the whole 'you can't distract me with flattery,' Mr. Teer." Holly said flatly. "Hurry it up."

Rudyard looked at his father with alarm. "Dad, you can't be serious-"

"Oh, come now Rudyard, it'll be fine. Even if they do hand you over to the Blue Djinn or Nimrod, or even whatever fool replaced me as tribe leader, I'll be sure to kill them all in the most painful ways I can think of before your funeral." Iblis said airily, and pushed Rudyard towards Holly, Casca, and Groanin.

"Dad!" Rudyard protested, but Iblis was already turning into smoke.

"Don't come back until you've turned Azazel into a doll!" Holly shouted at the black smoke that was Iblis as he swirled out through the ventilation system.

Rudyard whirled on her and took a deep breath, putting all of his mental effort into turning the three into cockroaches, and he was about to shout his focus word when a soft hand was placed on his shoulder.

"Such actions are inadvisable, young djinn," the kind voice of a woman spoke into his ear, and Rudyard fairly jumped out of his skin with fright. He whirled around again, but slipped on the thin layer of mercury that covered the floor and fell painfully on his side as Holly snorted with laughter.

"Holly, it's not nice to laugh at others' misfortune," Casca admonished sternly. Holly shrugged, but stifled her giggles as Rudyard stared at the tall redheaded woman who had suddenly appeared in the control room.

"Who the flying-" Rudyard began, but the woman interrupted him as she took his hand and helped him to his feet.

"I am Sarah Coomes, young djinn." She introduced herself with a smile- something Rudyard found revolting.

"You should have seen your face, Rudy!" Holly giggled uncontrollably from behind her hand. Rudyard glared at her.

"Don't call me that!" He scowled, annoyed. He wrenched his hand away from Sarah and scowled at her, too. Sarah looked back, still smiling as though she couldn't comprehend the concept of hate.

"So what now?" Holly asked, ignoring Rudyard's mounting irritation. "What time is it, anyway?"

"It's about five in the afternoon," Casca answered helpfully. "And as for our collateral, I'd recommend either bottling him up or else placing a binding on him so he doesn't cause trouble. You might consider both."

"Oooh, great!" Holly clapped her hands with enthusiasm. "I've always wanted to try out a Sesquipedalian binding! Hey, Rudy, what's your focus word?"

Rudyard saw an opportunity to be bitingly sarcastic and took it. "Well, gee, my focus word is- NONE OF YOUR DAMN BUSINESS, MARID, WHO THE HELL DO YOU THINK I AM?!"

Holly frowned. "Well that's not a very nice thing to say." She pouted. "I'm only trying to keep you out of trouble, Rudy. Echh. And you really need a shower, you know that?"

Rudyard scowled. "Don't friggin' call me that stupid nickname!" He shouted. "You're making it sound like I'm that stupid pancake mascot from IHOP!"

Holly gasped and smiled hugely. "I hadn't thought of that!" She snorted. "Rooty Tooty Rudy Teer. Pfft- _hahaha..._ " She was soon fairly doubled over with laughter.

Rudyard glared at her murderously as she laughed at his expense. "You little-" He muttered through clenched teeth.

"Holly," Casca chided helplessly.

Rudyard's dark, freckle-spangled face grew even darker as blood rushed to it. His focus word was on the tip of his tongue-

"I think an angelic binding would serve our purposes for now," Sarah spoke up serenely, and once again laid a hand on Rudyard's shoulder. Rudyard grabbed her wrist and shoved her hand away from himself, only to have a sharp pain shoot through his arm, as though it had been stabbed lengthwise by a spear. He yelped with pain, which made Holly chortle even more. Rudyard glowered at her as Sarah explained herself.

"Every time he does something rude, unpleasant, or generally morally objectionable, he'll feel a small portion of the might of heaven course through his bones so that he may reconsider his actions." Sarah smiled. Casca seemed unfazed by this explanation, but Holly and Groanin exchanged an apprehensive glance.

"Not gonna lie, Stepmom, that's kinda creepy." Holly said truthfully. Sarah merely smiled.

* * *

Not altogether too far from the secret pyramid in the secret cavern in which Holly was chortling not-so-secretly at Rudyard's irritation, Nimrod, Alexandra, and Mark stepped off of the jet plane with unsteady legs.

"I _hate_ airplanes," Alexandra complained loudly enough to garner a few askance looks from other, quieter passengers. Mark yawned.

"I don't see why, they're more efficient than the flying carpet you said we should take." He pointed out.

"We _should_ have taken a whirlwind," Alexandra continued complaining. "Hasn't the environment cleaned up its act enough for that yet?"

Nimrod sighed. "I told you," He said wearily, "If you didn't want to go by plane, we ought to have taken the carpet. Whirlwinds are still too unpredictable."

"Well I think it's silly that whirlwinds just one day, out of the blue, became unusable." Alexandra sniffed disdainfully. "And anyway, hadn't you better reactivate that _odorari_ of yours, Nimrod? We've made it all the way to China, and we don't want to lose Holly's trail now."

"Yes, dear." Nimrod said, and once more took out Holly's slapdash note and concentrated. "QWERTYUIOP," He muttered, and all of a sudden the scent he'd tracked to Heathrow Airport presented itself again, now an hours-old trail. Nimrod swiveled on his heel and strode towards the luggage carousel. "This way," He said to his companions, and Alexandra and Mark trailed after him, having a tentative conversation.

"... I don't think I ever asked you, Mark," Alexandra began, a little awkwardly, "But what was your life like in New York?"

Mark was more than a little surprised by the attention. "Who, me? I was fine. Things were great. I mean, as good as things normally are, I suppose. We weren't rich or anything, but we had a nice house in a nice neighbourhood, which is more than could be said for a lot of Afghani immigrants."

"Good, good," Alexandra muttered distractedly as Nimrod made a beeline for the terminal doors and they followed. "It's just... You're my brother's great-grandson. It's important to me that you led a happy life before all this," She gestured at everything in the immediate area with a wide, sweeping gesture, "happened." Alexandra sighed regretfully, but composed herself and turned back to Mark. "You know, if you want, you can call me 'Aunt Alexandra.' You are my great-great nephew, after all, and besides, I rather like the idea of having someone besides Nimrod's niece and nephew calling me 'aunt.'"

Mark nodded thoughtfully. "I met him before, you know," Mark said suddenly. "Magnus. I must have been like seven years old, and I didn't really get who he was, since my grandparents all looked way older than he did."

"You look a lot like him," Alexandra confessed, smiling sadly. "You even act like him sometimes, too. You have the same silly sense of humour."

Mark screwed up his face. "You think so, Aunt?" The word felt strange and foreign on his tongue, "I didn't get that at all last February when his ghost was possessing me without my permission."

Alexandra stopped walking. Mark turned with surprise.

"What is it?"

Without replying to Mark, Alexandra gathered a handful of her skirt in one hand and marched over to Nimrod, purpose oozing from each step. She seized his shoulder, turned him around, grabbed his tie with her other hand after letting go of her skirt, and smacked Nimrod full across the face furiously.

"Alexandra!" Nimrod sputtered, feeling the mark that was red enough to match his tie and wincing. "What on Earth was that for?"

"You knew, didn't you?" Alexandra spat, enraged. "You knew that Magnus came back and you thought I couldn't handle the news that he'd come and gone without visiting me. How _dare_ you, Nimrod?! You might have been his best friend, but _I was his sister_. How _dare_ you not tell me?!"

Mark grimaced sympathetically and shrugged in apology when Nimrod glanced his way, less than pleased.

"Alexandra, listen, I thought-" Nimrod began, but Alexandra gave him no chance to finish.

"Wrong! You thought wrong, Nimrod. You thought I couldn't handle the news, so you kept it from me. You're still thinking of me as your mad estranged wife and honestly? How dare you even think that in the first place!" She pushed him away with disgust. "From day one I've tried my darndest to be the responsible one, the responsible parent, make decisions about what was best for Holly because I knew you wouldn't. You're so caught up with being the Big Cheese of the Marid that you keep forgetting what it's like to trust other people to be capable. You're so stuck on what happened to old Rakshasas because you weren't there, so stuck on how John and Philippa lost their powers because you gave them a Hobson's choice and they took it at face value, that you're afraid to be a parent. Even back then, I knew that you'd be afraid of being fully responsible for another djinn, so I sent Holly to live with my great nephew! Don't you see that as a problem?"

" _Yes_ , Alexandra, it is a problem." Nimrod agreed, with matching volume. "Just as much as it's a problem as you making life-changing decisions unilaterally, when we made vows to each other, just as much of a problem as the fact that Holly lit off to Xi'an all of a sudden, with no explanation- and John and Philippa were supposed arrive tomorrow!"

"You mean today," Alexandra pointed out irritably. "They'll be in London in a few hours with no one there to meet them if you _don't hurry up_."

"Excuse me, if you're about done being at each other's throats, I think I might know why Holly left so suddenly." Mark spoke up, observing the scene with a strange mix of amusement, sympathy, and unpleasant memories of his parents' divorce swelling up at the sound of their bickering.

Alexandra and Nimrod turned in eerie unison to Mark. "Why?" Nimrod asked.

"Cas sent a letter with his present. Holly wouldn't tell me what it said, just something about 'birthday wishes.' Now, can we move on? People are staring"

Alexandra and Nimrod exchanged an apprehensive look and nodded, as though some telepathic communication had passed between them in the few seconds they'd made eye contact.

"Let's hurry along, now." Nimrod said, once more concentrating on his _Odorari_ spell. "With any luck, we'll find Groanin as well."

* * *

 ** _Author's Notes:_** _Angst? You were expecting angst from this chapter too? Nah, have Rudyard getting mercilessly teased and Nimrod and Alexandra once again airing their dirty laundry in a public space. Also, that pancake mascot was totally a thing and it creeped me out as a child. It was a pancake with a face named Rooty Tooty. Distressing._

 _~Lucinda_


	25. Chapter 24: To Spare A Spider

_tw: suicide mentions, gore mention_

 **Chapter 24: To Spare a Spider**

Cassius ran. His sneakers pounded against the dirt roads as his insides reeled with panic and confusion, fleeing the rectory, fleeing the high pitched scream of the secretary as she discovered Father Desai's bloody corpse, fleeing Buck's look of horror as he put the pieces together, fleeing Dimme's understanding countenance, fleeing the scene of his terrible crime. Cassius knew, more than anything else in this morally murky moment, that nothing would ever be the same again. This one simple act had changed his life, and he ran from it as fast as his feet could take him.

He ran until he no longer knew where he was. He ran until his legs ached and screamed with fatigue, and then he ran some more, pushing himself beyond what he had thought were his limits. He ran until, halfway across a bridge overlooking a muddy river, his body gave out at last and Cassius collapsed, trembling and shaking in a fit of tears. His knees tore on the concrete as he fell, ripping great scrapes in his kneecaps, blood pooling onto the bridge.

Cassius slammed a fist against the railing, which hummed indignantly in response. In answer, Cassius let loose a string of foul words that he had only ever heard walking the halls of his high school, but never dared to speak. Vile words he'd never had reason to utter before now.

If anyone passed by, Cassius didn't notice: there were hot tears in his eyes, foul language on his tongue, and bile in his throat. His vision swam before him, and his world seemed to spiral out of control, slipping irrevocably away from the cautious, innocent grasp he'd held since childhood, the darkness- oh, the terrifying darkness, where the demons waited to snatch his immortal soul away from him- swallowing him up, literally and figuratively as dusk approached.

This sort of thing would never have happened to the old Cas, or even to Casca. The old Cas had had angels on his side, always there to rescue him before things got too out of hand, always there to protect him from the darkness within himself, the darkness he'd inherited from Beelzebub. The darkness that filled his mind now every time he chanced upon a dream. The darkness he still feared so fervently. All this misfortune was happening, Cassius realized suddenly, because he was an Ifrit, through and through. Not just an Ifrit, though, he was the son of an Ifritah and a powerful demon. He was born into Evil. Yet he'd fooled himself into believing that he could have worked for Good. How ridiculous. A person like him had no choice in the matter. Perhaps he should have joined forces with Azazel when he'd had the opportunity. At least there, he'd have a place he belonged.

The thought made his already chaotic stomach revolt completely, and Cassius barely had enough time to pull himself upright and lean over the railings before what little was left of the _vasuki_ he'd eaten for lunch emptied into the brown river below. To think that just a while ago he'd been hungry!

After retching for far longer than he had thought was possible, Cassius looked down at his hand, which, despite having deliberately left it behind, somehow grasped the softly glowing, now bloodstained green knife. It glinted sinisterly at him, a reminder of the life he'd just taken.

Again he saw Father Desai's eyes the very moment before he and the demon had died, the one moment when the priest's true eyes shone through, struggling to free himself from the thrall of the demon. The expression the priest had worn had not been one of betrayal, nor even of approval of what Cassius had done. It had been of bewilderment; Father Desai hadn't even been aware of what was going on until it was too late. Cassius felt like vomiting again.

"Penny for your thoughts?" Asked a sudden, very English, and habitually uncaring voice at his side.

Cassius jolted with alarm and turned around to face the man leaning carelessly on the iron railing, wielding Azrael's death knife in both shaking hands.

"Who are you?" Cassius asked, his voice shaking as much as the rest of him.

Barefooted and dressed in tattered green silk pyjamas, old scars that had been left by enormous feline jaws and claws snaking around his body in ripples, his curly blond hair spattered with dried blood, his beard overgrown, and dark circles below his sharply clever dark eyes, this man looked like hell.

He also looked strangely familiar, and it took Cassius a moment or two for his panicked and muddled brain to recognize him for who he was: Iblis Teer. Not only that, but in his original body as well.

But... wasn't this impossible? Hadn't he heard from John and Philippa that Iblis had been fatally mauled by tigers? And after that, in a stolen body, hadn't Iblis been imprisoned for eternity inside a jade sarcophagus that was impossible for him to escape? Was this a phantasm brought on by acute stress? Either way, real or unreal, Iblis showed no inclination of leaving or yet answering Cassius' question. He looked down at Azrael's knife with amusement.

"What are you going to do, poke me?" He asked, in an arrogant tone that told Cassius that, even if he wasn't aware of the knife's true powers, he was completely aware that Cassius was in no state to follow up on his silent threat. "Anyway, I asked you a question, boy. Answer it before I get too impatient."

Cassius knew he probably shouldn't be talking to the infamous Iblis Teer, whether or not he was imaginary, but at the same time... he needed someone, _anyone_ to confide in. Not too long ago, that person would have invariably been Holly, but he'd left her far behind him, back in London, because he couldn't involve her in his own confusion, in the turmoil that now seemed silly comparatively. After that, Buck would have been his next choice to discuss things with, but this... this was murder. He'd seen Buck faint at the bloody sight of the body, and Cassius couldn't blame him. He'd dearly wanted to do the same, after all. And besides, he couldn't drag either of them into this even if they were there with him it was just too... too enormous. Too weighty. Too terrible. The idea of confiding in an adult- even an evil one who might probably be a figment of his own imagination- suddenly felt strangely comforting.

"I..." Cassius began, his voice cracking. "I don't know what I am anymore." His voice shook.

"Really? That's easy, you're a djinn. It's written all over your face." Iblis reached into his pocket and pulled out a slightly bent cigarette and a dented lighter. "Doesn't explain why you look like hell, though."

Cassius briefly reflected on the irony of that statement before shaking his head and lowering the knife. "It's not that I don't know I'm a djinn. That's about the only thing I'm sure of. I mean that I don't know if I'm good or evil anymore." Cassius marvelled at how relatively calm he felt talking to the previous titleholder of 'most evil djinn in the world,' but perhaps that had something to do with the fact that, in comparison to Beelzebub, or even to the demon Cassius had just faced, Iblis seemed no more evil than a slightly kooky uncle. Which was at least partially true: Iblis was, after all, Cassius' biological uncle.

"That's even easier," Iblis declared, smoking unconcernedly. "What tribe are you from?"

Cassius' heart plummeted to his shoes at the question. "I'm-" he began, but Iblis didn't let him finish.

"Wrong answer." Iblis interrupted harshly. "Truth is, it doesn't matter which fecking tribe you're in, good or evil, Ifrit or Marid, Ghul or Jann, Shaitan or Jinn- the fact of the matter is, all us djinn start out essentially the same. What actually matters is what you _do._ So tell me, what have you done that made you feel like hell?" Iblis had, Cassius observed, a shrewd way of giving advice. Quite unlike the pep talks that Nimrod had offered from time to time, which were more often than not bouts of usually unhelpful rhetoric peppered with Boethian philosophies (among others), Iblis seemed to be taking a distinctly more Socratic approach to his advice, getting Cassius to come to the desired conclusion on his own, and interrupting only when he saw Cassius jumping to the wrong conclusions.

And what did it really matter if Cassius told him about his problems? He was most likely a hallucination anyway.

"I..." Cassius swallowed, steeling himself to make the confession. "I killed a man." Cassius confessed, tears blurring his vision once again, running down his face and dripping into the Ganges. There was a finality to the words, as if saying them aloud had confirmed their truth once and for all.

"That explains a few things," Iblis observed, blowing a smoke ring above Cassius' head as he ruminated. "So this is a negative action, in your eyes?"

Cassius nodded. "Though 'negative' doesn't even begin to describe it," He added quietly.

"So let me get this straight," Iblis thought aloud, "You've been acting the part of good djinn all this time, but now that you've committed a single act of horrendous evil, you've thrown yourself into utter chaos, hm?"

"That sounds about right." Cassius agreed. His voice sounded hollow, even to his own ears.

"Now I suppose the question you have for yourself is ' _will this single act of evil condemn me for all eternity despite whatever good I do to offset it,_ ' which is a tricky question to answer. Who's to say what goes on in the afterlife, anyway?" Iblis mused, drawing little glowing shapes in the air with the tip of his cigarette. "If I were you, I'd consider that Buddhist story about the strand of spider silk."

"Is that the one about the thief who goes to hell?" Cassius asked. Iblis nodded.

The story was not unfamiliar to Cassius. He remembered a rainy afternoon, what seemed like an eon ago, when Mrs. Malone and he had been so bored that they told each other stories. At the time, Cassius hadn't been aware of its true origins as a Buddhist folktale, but he remembered his adoptive mother's retelling of it as clearly as ever.

"A long time ago, in a land far away," she had opened, as did all her stories- she hated _once upon a times_ , they were so cliche, so boring, she always said, "There was a wicked thief. He did every evil thing you could think of, robbing people for his own gain, picking their pockets, slitting their throats. In all his life, the only act of goodness he ever performed was once when he found a spider under his mat, he reconsidered squashing it, and spared its life. Now of course, when this thief died, he was sent straight to Hell with all the other wicked souls, and like them, he prayed for a way out of his eternal torment. He prayed so much that the soul of the spider whose life he'd saved heard him, and asked God if there wasn't something they could do for this man, in thanks for sparing the spider's life. So God sent down a thread of the spider's silk for the thief to use to climb up from Hell. However, other lost souls who wanted to escape from Hell also started to climb the spider silk thread, and the thief shouted at them and shook them off, saying 'this is my thread, it is meant for me alone!' Since it now bore the weight of the thief's selfishness, the thread could not support anything more, and snapped forever, and the thief fell back into Hell with no more hope for redemption."

It had been an odd story to tell a seven-year-old, even then Cassius had known that much, and it had always struck him as strange that his mother would tell him a story that did not have that almost obligatory happy ending that the stories his father told always seemed to have.

"Yeah, I know that story," Cassius said, realizing all of a sudden that Iblis was waiting for him to respond. "But I'm not like the thief in the story."

"Yes, yes, you've tried to be quite the goody-two-shoes, haven't you?" Iblis nodded.

Cassius frowned. "I've certainly tried to be," he admitted with uncertainty.

"Now, that thief killed, robbed, and pillaged, and yet was still offered a chance at redemption because of one small act of good he did in his lifetime. If one decent act can give a person like me a shot at redemption, then what sort of redemption do you think is there for you, a child who's only just begun life and yet has tried his hardest to be good, and as yet has only one wicked deed to his name?" Iblis asked sensibly.

Cassius' frown deepened. "You're trying to get me to rationalize. It won't work. An innocent man- a _priest_ \- is still dead by my hands."

"If you don't rationalize, how will you go on living?" Iblis countered. "Rationalization and compartmentalization is more necessary than you think. Besides, it's working, isn't it? You've stopped blubbering."

"So I should just pretend that this never happened?" Cassius demanded, waving his arms out in a wide gesture. "Make-believe I never _murdered_ anyone?"  
"Blood on your hands and a dead man do not a murderer make." Iblis nodded sagely. "I've known murderers. Hell, I am a murderer myself. But I've been talking to you for all of five minutes and already I can tell that you're no murderer."

"And how does _that_ change anything?" Cassius asked gloomily, looking down at the river. Perhaps... He dropped Azrael's dagger, and it clattered onto the concrete. Cassius gripped the iron railing with both hands and swung himself over, balancing precariously on the railing, his grip the only thing preventing him from falling down into the river.

"What the hell do you think you're doing?!" Iblis yelled, turning with alarm.

"Evening the score," Cassius explained, feeling oddly calm. "This world would be better without me in it."

Iblis flicked the butt of his spent cigarette into the river and seized Cassius by the collar of his bloodstained t-shirt. "The hell kind of insane thinking is that?!" He asked furiously, and hauled Cassius back over the railing. "You think killing yourself will solve anything? Wrong! Death solves nothing, especially if it's your own death! Don't you have people who would miss you? Don't you have people you would miss? _Think_ before you _act_ , you idiot boy!" Iblis berated him, seizing his collar with both hands and shaking him violently, as though he might be able to shake some sense into him.

Cassius glared at him, his temper rearing its ugly head. "Well what else can I do?!" He shouted back, grabbing Iblis' (suspiciously solid) wrists and yanking them away from himself. "And what would you know about anything? I bet you've never regretted anything in your life!"

Iblis looked at him in tense silence for a few moment that seemed to last forever, his dark eyes wearing an expression sharper than ever. "Untrue," he finally said, in quiet, even tones. "There are a few things I regret, and those few things have haunted me despite my best efforts to run from them."

"And?" Cassius prompted, still feeling furious and determined to at least get some dirt on Iblis, even if it was just his imagination.

Iblis didn't answer immediately, merely regarded Cassius with those dark, calculating eyes for awhile, as though he was trying to formulate a reply that, while not completely truthful, still satisfied Cassius' curiosity.

"I disowned my only sister." Iblis finally admitted, his voice detached. "The only living member of my immediate family. I pushed her away after... some unpleasant business happened." He paused again, his shrewd dark eyes now searching for something. "Say, goody-two-shoes, what does the love of a sibling mean to good djinn?"

Cassius wavered. This was a strange turn. What should he say? "I... I'm not really on great terms with my brother." Cassius said, once more uncertain. "But..." The memory of that strange dream he'd had on the plane came back to him. _Despite everything,_ Azazel had said. "Being siblings means that even if you don't agree with the choices the other one makes, you still support those decisions. It means you don't turn your back on them, because despite everything, they're still your sibling." He thought back to almost a year ago, when he'd had that dream where he'd first seen his mother and Iblis interact, seen Iblis disown her. "It's also about letting them know that you have their back, no matter what."

Iblis digested this somewhat awkward speech thoughtfully, looking out once again over the Ganges, and lighting another cigarette. "I had reason to disown her, you know. She bore the children of a demon." He announced. "And I did forgive her once. The second time it happened, though?" he shook his head. "I had to take action. And of course I regretted it immediately, I regretted it the very second she turned her back on me." Iblis gave a curt, bitter laugh. "So I tried to fix things." He smiled, a tight-lipped, slightly derisive expression.

"What did you do?" Cassius asked curiously.

Iblis glanced at him once again with an enigmatic expression. "I didn't step on a spider." He shrugged. "Don't go killing yourself now, okay kid? You have too much you need to get done to be doing that." Without waiting to see if his words had sunk in, Iblis walked away, raising a scarred hand in silent farewell as Cassius sank back down to the concrete. Somehow, unexplainably, Cassius felt like he'd been led out of the darkness.

* * *

 ** _Author's Notes_** ** _:_** _Okay so I reeeeeaaaally like this chapter. Cassius *may* have killed that priest *just* for this conversation to happen._

 _~Lucinda_


	26. Chapter 25: Shattered Limbs

**Chapter 25: Shattered Limbs**

"Ya know, Rudy, you're the biggest stick in the mud I've ever met. And that's saying something, seeing as this guy here was once the record-holder." Holly jabbed a thumb at Casca, who smiled benignly.

"I give up my title with grace." He nodded. "I know when I have been bested at my own game." Holly snorted with laughter.

Rudyard gawked at the two of them. He didn't think he'd ever met two more over-the-top nerds in his life. And here they were, an angel and a Marid, both acting like they were friends with him or something. It was obnoxious.

They were waiting until the exhibition hall had closed for the night before emerging from the secret cavern, during which time Rudyard had done his best to ignore Holly, a difficult task considering the small fact that she seemed to be louder than every single one of his brothers, and simply _wouldn't shut up_. It didn't help matters that Rudyard still didn't understand why it was that his father had left him behind so easily- nor yet how it was that Iblis had gotten his original body back. He knew that that couldn't have been a hallucination: the body of Adam Apollonius had remained lying in the mercury, decomposing even after Iblis had swirled out through the ventilation system as so much smoke. And the two angels had even taken the corpse from the jade pyramid and buried it underneath the solid stone floor of the cavern outside, even taking the time to mark the grave meticulously. The woman who had put that weird binding on him was still standing over the grave, hands folded and head bent in prayer.

Holly, for her part, found the surly Rudyard equally as annoying as he found her, though mostly because his face seemed to be set in a permanent scowl. But, since they were stuck with each other for the time being, she had decided to be optimistic about the situation as a whole and after a while, she stopped teasing him about his name. Though she stubbornly continued to call him 'Rudy,' despite any protests on his part, and despite how desperately he tried to use the now useless _adligare_ to bind her to his will, feeling very confused when it had no effect. When all attempts to leave, say something rude, or use his focus word to affect his surroundings to his advantage failed, Rudyard walked a ways off by himself and began kicking listlessly at the broken shards of terracotta soldiers. Once in awhile Rudyard came across a limb that had not broken into tiny pieces, and he stomped on it with his sneakers, relishing the sharp shattering noise it made as he crushed it.

Momentarily, Holly thought of Kassandra Spiros, and what she would think about such wanton destruction of valuable artistic history. She also thought that maybe she ought to be a bit nicer to the evil djinn, even if he was, well, evil. And irritating. And sulky beyond all reason.

"Oh come on, can't you take a joke, Rudy?" Holly called, walking after him with hurried steps, followed by Casca, who walked at a much more sedate pace. "Also can you maybe not destroy things? I mean, I'd much rather you destroy these guys than us, but can't you appreciate the value they have for history?"

Rudyard rolled his eyes, looking very similar to a certain half-brother of his, and crushed a mostly intact decapitated warrior head. "Who's gonna see this place anyway? Mundanes won't because of all the mercury, and djinn won't because of the jade."

Holly paused for a moment before replying. "You have a point there. I think Groanin already went down the passage a ways to get away from the mercury. It is rather a lot, isn't it? How'd you get it down here, anyway?"

Rudyard shrugged. "I dunno. I guess I used djinn power. My brother Jon helped out some, too, since dad was busy in the states with that dumbass Dybbuk."

Holly's eyelid twitched. "What did you just say about Buck?" She asked, with obviously forced control.

Rudyard snorted. "I said he's a dumb- _aaah!_ Hey, what gives?!" Halfway through his snide sentence, a sharp pain had blossomed in one of his ribs, making him shout.

"That will be the binding at work." Casca smiled benignly, though, as it struck Holly, perhaps a little _too_ benignly. "You should speak politely of others, you know. Particularly your own brother."

Rudyard scowled at the both of them. "Ugh, first dad and now you bozos. ' _He's your brother, be nice.' 'He's your brother, don't call him a dim-wit.'_ God, I don't _care_! He's half-Marid for crying out loud! And anyway, he was dumb enough to lose his powers, which was all his own fault. And besides that, I never even met him, so why _should_ I care at all?" Rudyard shoved his hands into the pockets of his grungy jeans and kicked a clay arm into the mercurial lake.

"He's your fam-" Holly began indignantly, but stopped abruptly when Casca laid a hand on her shoulder. She looked over at him- he was wearing an odd sort of expression, like he understood what Rudyard was getting at, past all of the rather rude language.

"Yes, blood ties aren't omni-important, but you ought to realize, Rudyard, that Buck now defines himself in contrast to you. You, the two youngest sons of Iblis Teer. Yet you may be more similar to each other than either of you realizes."

Rudyard stared at Casca for a moment, wondering what it was about the angel that struck him as so obnoxiously familiar, and wondering indeed, what he knew on the subject of dysfunctional sibling relationships. "I doubt it," he finally said, now suddenly quite perturbed by the familiarity of Casca's features that he couldn't quite place his finger on why.

Tanned skin, vaguely slanted green eyes, a slightly hooked nose, high cheekbones... Why did he recognize those features? All of a sudden, it all clicked improbably into place. Rudyard pointed at Casca triumphantly.

"You're that prick Azazel's little brother! The one who went missing all those years ago!" He exclaimed, then immediately frowned. "I have zero idea how that's even possible but I'm right, aren't I?"

Holly and Casca exchanged an obnoxiously confidential look. "Well," Casca admitted, "You're not wrong."

"You think Iblis figured it out?" Holly asked, glancing sidelong at Rudyard. Casca shrugged unconcernedly.

"It doesn't matter either way. Besides, he was probably more distracted by the little fact that I'm an angel."

"Yeah, how does that work anyway?" Rudyard asked, squinting at Casca. "I mean, Azazel's a djinn. Aunt Dee's a djinn. So how are you... not a djinn? And _good_?"

Casca smiled at his cousin. "I have no idea. If you ever figure it out, please, let me know."

"Come along, you three!" Sarah called chirpily, finished with her prayers and now beckoning the three teenagers towards the tunnel that led back out into the now vacant exhibition hall.

"Yeah, yeah, just a sec!" Holly called back, and picked her way through the broken bits of terracotta soldiers, followed by Casca, and bringing up the rear (quite reluctantly) was Rudyard.

As they walked into the tunnel, all of them fell silent as they walked, led by the faint glow from the cavern behind them, and by the warm angel-light that both Sarah and Casca emitted. Before them, the tunnel stretched, dark and uninviting, interrupted only by the pinprick of light that came from Groanin's lighter as he used it to squint at a rumpled page of yesterday's _Daily Telegraph_ that he'd found in his pocket.

They were about halfway to the entrance when an unmistakable voice rang out with great authority. " _Kai Shen._ "

Holly froze. Then, moving as quickly as possible, she turned and grabbed Rudyard's arm, digging out her new silver lamp from her bag with her other hand. "Get in the lamp!" She hissed at the evil djinn, brandishing the thing in his face. Rudyard's lip curled.

"Make me." He sneered. Holly glowered.

"Rudy I don't have time to argue with you, get in the lamp! And don't mess anything up in there, either, I haven't used it yet."

"I don't have to do anything you say," Rudyard retorted, and Casca sighed.

"I'll take him, don't worry, Hol. While I'm at it, want me to stay in there and keep an eye on him?"

"Yeah, thanks, and get him to take a shower or something, _please_." Holly nodded gratefully as Casca took Rudyard by the elbow and the two of them swirled into Holly's lamp as a mixture of black smoke and glowing lights. Not a moment, too soon, too, just as Holly stuffed the lamp back into her bag just as the secret door slid open.

Groanin looked up, enormously relieved as the evening light filtered into the tunnel. "Sir! Did you get my telephone message?"

"Groanin!" Nimrod cried joyously at the sight of his butler. "So this is where you've got to!" Alexandra, standing just behind Nimrod, alongside Mark, grabbed Nimrod by the collar and tugged him out of the way.

"HOLLY IMELDA GODWIN YOU ARE IN SO MUCH TROUBLE!" Alexandra bellowed down the passage furiously.

"Oh dear," Sarah smiled. "This is awkward, isn't it? Come along, Holly, perhaps we can explain."

Reluctantly, Holly slunk after Sarah as she strode from the passageway out into the pit. Upon noticing Mark, however, Sarah froze with a rather deer-in-headlights look on her face. Mark stared back, equally baffled.

"Who is this?" Alexandra asked Sarah, frowning.

"This is my stepmother, Sarah." Holly supplied dully. Alexandra's eyes darted over to Nimrod for a moment, narrowing with vicious suspicion, and he shook his head quickly.

"But you're dead," Mark said, his voice shaking in utter disbelief. "You died in the fire."

Holly elbowed Sarah pointedly. Sarah looked down at her feet, tears in her eyes. "Yes, about that, Mark... I... I'm sorry I never told you. I..."

Holly sighed impatiently. "Sarah's an angel, Mark. She's very sorry she never mentioned it, and she's very sorry she didn't let us know that she was still alive after the fires. Right, Sarah?"

Sarah nodded tearfully in agreement.

"Regardless," Alexandra's harsh voice broke abruptly into the tearful moment with stern finality. "Holly Imelda Coomes, _you_ are _grounded_."

* * *

 ** _Author's notes:_** _ABOUT DAMN TIME SOMEONE STARTED ACTING LIKE AN ACTUAL PARENT (I mean of course besides Mark)_

 _~Lucinda_


	27. Chapter 26: Family Matters

_tw: suicide mention, murder talk, Dang Dimme, ur language_

 **Chapter 26: Family Matters**

Dimme pounded on the door of room 304 of the Hotel Casa Fortuna with one hand as her other arm supported a very groggy Buck, who was a lot heavier than he looked. "Open up, Bart!" She shouted impatiently through the door. There was a pause, as no doubt Bart was looking through the peephole to confirm her identity, and a moment later, the hotel door opened. Bart jerked his chin at Buck.

"What's he doing here? And what happened to your kid?" He looked at them more closely as he stepped aside to allow Dimme to drag Buck into the room. "And what's with the blood? I can smell it on you both." He frowned. "You're not hurt, are you Di?"

Dimme shook her head as she set Buck down on the floor, propped him up against the bed, and checked his pupils to make sure that the boy hadn't suffered any serious head trauma when he'd fainted. "Neither of us are hurt, nor is Cassius." Dimme explained, once she was satisfied that Buck was in no medical danger.

"Then why all the blood? You didn't kill someone, did you? I thought we agreed that doing that's too risky and could leave a paper trail." Bart crossed his arms as he watched Dimme hurry to the bathroom and return with a cup of ice water.

"I didn't kill anyone this time!" She snapped, dashing the ice water into Buck's face, causing him to splutter and wake up more completely.

"Then he-" Bart asked, pointing at Buck, who was busy rubbing water out of his eyes.

"No." Dimme interrupted, frowning. "It was Cassius."

Bart was silent for a moment. "You're kidding me," he said, squinting suspiciously at Dimme. "There's no way Cas could kill somebody."

"Well he killed a priest." Dimme explained succinctly, and then turned crossly back to Buck. "Wake up, boy!"

"Okay, now I _know_ you're making this up. Maybe if you'd said 'satanist' or something, I'd have believed you, but a _priest_? No way."

"I don't think he did it on purpose, Bart." Dimme sighed.

"Where am I?" Buck asked, finally getting the icy water out of his eyes enough to take in his surroundings. "What happened at the rectory? Where's Cas?"

" _Finally._ " Dimme sighed. "And to answer, in order: you're in room 304 of the Hotel Casa Fortuna, that pastor fellow was murdered, and Cassius fled without so much as a word to either of us. Also, you fainted dead away at the sight of a corpse."

"I did not!" Buck protested automatically, but frowned as he processed the rest of what Dimme had told him. "So you think that Cas killed Father Desai? Why would he do that?"

"Either Father Desai was possessed by that demon, or else Cassius was."

Buck rubbed his aching temples. "I guess I should go find him. He's probably having a panic attack of epic proportions right now."

"Wait, you two are actually serious?" Bart said with great shock. "Cas- that do-gooder boy who used to be half angel- actually killed someone? Killed a _priest_?"

"Where was that shock and horror five minutes ago?" Dimme asked snippily. "Yes we're serious, and it's quite alarming, honestly. Who knows what he'll try to do to rectify the situation? Turn himself in to the authorities? Run to another priest and confess everything? Go on a murderous rampage? Hell, I could even see him trying to kill himself if he's upset enough."

Bart frowned. Then he turned to Buck. "You said that you were doing the whole demon-slaying thing as a favour for the Green Dervish, yeah?"

Buck nodded slowly.

"I'd suggest telling him what happened and asking for his help with finding Cas. If anyone's going to be obnoxiously concerned about the immortal souls of others, it'll be an angel."

"Good idea, Bart." Dimme nodded.

"Great." Buck rolled his eyes. "Now how do I get back to the Temple of Ninety-five-"

He stopped abruptly as a sharp knock came at the door

"I know you're in there, open up," came a muffled voice that neither Dimme nor Bart had ever expected to hear again. The two adult djinn glanced at each other, and Dimme motioned frantically first at Bart, then at Buck, and finally at the window, moving her finger in a spiral motion and mouthing _whirlwind him out of here!_

Bart nodded, dragged Buck to the window, and pushed him out with a whispered "PALANQUIN," that conjured up a whirlwind before Buck landed messily on the pavement below.

After the window was shut again and the curtains drawn, Dimme, feeling chills run down her spine, drifted to the door and dreamlike, pulled it open.

Looking far more unkempt than she had ever remembered seeing him, his curly blond hair stained with blood and left uncombed, wearing shabbily torn green silk pyjamas, his feet bare and filthy, and underneath his collar Dimme saw livid red scars at his throat.

Iblis smiled. "Long time, no see, little sister."

Dimme's dark eyes grew wide and she reached out a trembling hand and touched her brother's face: he was really there. Really, truly, inexplicably alive.

"How have you be-" Iblis began but was cut short by the resounding slap as Dimme struck him as hard as she could across the face.

"You _ass!_ " She shrieked, seizing him by the collar of his ragged pyjamas and dragging him down to match her eye level so she could smack him again. "You living _wankstain_! You scum of the earth _bastard_!" Dimme snarled. "You disown me, make my life a living Hell, get yourself eaten by tigers and you think it's still okay to waltz into _my house-_ "

"Hotel room," Iblis muttered, and Dimme pulled cruelly on his cheek in retaliation.

"You waltz into _my house_ like nothing's happened? What the flying f*** is wrong with you!?" Dimme finished.

Bart watched the siblings grapple with each other impassively from his position at the window. "Need help?" He asked.

"No, thank you Bart." Dimme answered firmly, the same moment that Iblis said

"Uh-huh." Dimme shook him, her sharp nails digging painfully into his cheek.

"Do you have any idea how much of your shit I've had to deal with since you got yourself locked up?" Dimme hissed. "Day in and day out- your sons have tried to wipe me out of existence, your replacement has tried to murder me, you destroyed my credibility with the few djinn who did once trust me, _decimated_ any hope of _my_ sons having anything even _remotely_ resembling a _normal_ life. And what do you get? A few scars? Hardly worth thinking about since you got your old body back, what's a few scars to the Great and Powerful Iblis Teer, hm? _Now how is that remotely fair?_ "

She had twisted his collar around in her fist so that now it was wound rather tightly about his throat.

"Can't... breathe... Dimme..." Iblis gasped for air. Dimme laughed cruelly but released him, pushing Iblis with so much force that he lost his balance and landed painfully on his tailbone.

Dimme looked down at him with a sneer, her slightly snubbed nose turned up with disgust as she watched Iblis undo the top button of his pyjama shirt and massage the fresh bruises blooming on his throat.

"Out of my sight." Dimme spat.

Iblis didn't move. "I need to talk to you, Dimme." He said quietly.

"What part of 'out of my sight,' don't you understand, you dimwit?" Dimme demanded. "Leave! Vamos! Get going! Sayonara! Au revoir! Stop sticking your stupidly long nose into my life, you've ruined it enough already!"

"Dimme, I'm not leaving until we've talked." Iblis said stiffly. "This is important. It's about your sons."

Dimme froze.

"He's baiting you, Di," Bart observed.

"True, but I also stopped Alistair from killing himself." Iblis admitted, with equal parts manipulation and honesty. "By the way, Aalesworth, nice bruise you have there."

"Thanks for noticing," Bart answered, deadpan. "It's courtesy of one of your sons."

"I lost my powers because you wouldn't help me, you know. Because you didn't take the time to listen to me." Dimme told Iblis coldly, ignoring Bart.

Iblis bowed his head. "I'm sorry for disowning you," He mumbled. Then, in clearer tones, he added, "But believe me, I'm as unhappy to be back as you are to see me."

Dimme snorted. "Now why is _that_ so difficult to believe? Oh, that's right, it's because you're only benefitting from this situation while I'm remembering every single shitty thing you've done to me in the past sixteen years. Shall I list them?"

"Di, that'd take too long and we need to get going." Bart reminded her.

"You have a point," Dimme nodded loftily.

"Can I please say my bit already?" Iblis pleaded, though it was evident that he'd begun to get annoyed.

Dimme sneered down at him. "And what exactly will happen if I say no?"

"Then I'll place a _diminuendo_ on Azazel _without_ talking to you first and toss him into the deepest cesspit I know of. You know the one. In Russia."

 _That_ got Dimme's attention. Her eyes widened again and her sneer twisted into a conflicted mess of fear, upset, and worry. "What?" She asked, all acrimony draining from her countenance.

"That got your attention more than the fact that your younger son tried to drown himself?" Iblis asked, rather baffled.

"He did what?!" Dimme asked, alarmed.

"Alistair nearly jumped off of a bridge because he killed some priest." Iblis shrugged.

"Cassius did...?" Dimme asked faintly, and sat down heavily on the edge of the bed. "Is he all right? And why would you put a _diminuendo_ on Azazel?" Dimme frowned, her brow furrowing. "And why aren't you shocked and appalled that Cassius chose the path of Good?"

Iblis stretched his long legs out in front of him. "It seems I have rather more explaining to do, little sister. This could take awhile."

"Just hurry up and explain," Bart said rudely.

Iblis gave him a quick glare but began. "Dimme... everything that's happened to your family... is my fault."

"No duh." Dimme snapped. "Explain why."

Iblis met her gaze with sudden and considerable shame. "It was one time," he assured her. "Only once."

"What?" Dimme asked impatiently. "What did you do?"

Iblis grimaced, as though he couldn't believe he was actually admitting this. "I prayed."


	28. Chapter 27: With Great Responsibility

_tw: Will Jirjis Ibn Rajmus Ever Be An Effective Villain? also murder talk again but different murders this time_

 **Chapter 27: With Great Responsibility, etc. etc.**

"It's about time," Holly muttered to herself.

"What was that?" Alexandra asked harshly.

"I mean, nooo, don't, that's not fair at all." Holly said, without much enthusiasm. "Your super parenting skills are getting the better of me already."

Alexandra frowned and looked over at Nimrod. "You _did_ punish her for vanishing like this before, didn't you?"

Nimrod scratched his chin awkwardly and readjusted his glasses. "Well... no. She turned up safe and sound, and that was what mattered, isn't it?"

Alexandra stared at him in disbelief. "You've never once exercised your parental responsibilities?"

"Nope," Holly said cheerfully, not-so-secretly happy that it was Nimrod's turn to be in trouble. Alexandra frowned at her.

"Well, young lady, don't think this changes a thing. When we get home you'll have no warm meals for a week, no video games for a month, and no djinn power for _two_ months."

Nimrod frowned. "Alexandra, don't you think that's a little harsh?"

"You don't even know the reason I came here in the first place, Nimrod." Holly spoke up. "Weren't you going to at least ask that?"

"Er... oh, yes, of course. Why _are_ you here, of all places, Holly?" Nimrod asked, clearing his throat awkwardly and trying to sidle surreptitiously away from Alexandra's death glare. "This isn't the sort of place you should be going willingly."

"I got a lead on how to stop Azazel." Holly explained calmly. "I knew that you wouldn't approve, so I didn't tell you."

"And this lead was...?" Nimrod queried, though judging by the look of resignation on his face, he'd already guessed the truth.

"Iblis Teer." Holly nodded. "He's agreed to put Azazel under a _diminuendo_ binding in exchange for his freedom."

In stark contrast to how Holly had expected him to react, Nimrod sighed, took off his glasses, and polished them using the corner of his red suit jacket. Once his glasses were back on his nose, Nimrod turned a rather irritated glare at Groanin. "And why exactly didn't you try to stop this plan, Groanin?"

Groanin sputtered indignantly. "Certainly if I'd known before I was dragged off against my will, I'd have put a stop to it!"

"Yeah, I didn't tell Mr. Groanin until we were already in China what we were here to do." Holly supplied helpfully. "And he did try his best to talk me out of it, I just didn't listen."

"She didn't listen whatsoever, Sir." Groanin nodded vehemently.

"And no tea for a month, either." Alexandra spoke, after an awkward pause. Nimrod looked horrified. Tugging on her sleeve, he spoke in a low voice that everyone could still hear easily.

"Don't you think that's a bit much, Alexandra? I mean... no tea? For a month?"

"Or coffee." Alexandra added, and scowled at Nimrod. "And this is exactly why I told you you're a terrible parent; you have no idea when to put your foot down!"

"Yeah," Holly agreed. "There have literally been zero consequences for my various selfish and reckless actions except Mark getting his knickers in a twist all the time."

Mark frowned. "I do not," He protested.

Holly smirked. "You totally do."

"Regardless." Alexandra interrupted the good-natured sibling banter with harsh austerity. "There will be consequences for your actions from now on, young djinn. Nimrod? _Sesquipedalian_ binding, _now._ "

Nimrod frowned uncertainly. "Are you sure that's wise? I mean, what if she has to defend herself?"

"She has angels on her side, doesn't she?" Alexandra demanded impatiently. "And if you're feeling so terribly insecure, then give her a _discrimen_ for emergencies. But two months without djinn power will give her plenty of time to think over her actions. And as for travelling, we'll discuss legislation on _that_ when we get home, young djinn."

Though she felt a pang at those last words, Holly kept a cool head and nodded calmly. "Okay." She said placidly. Alexandra frowned at the utter lack of raucous disagreement that she usually met with whenever she'd tried to get Holly to do something Holly hadn't wanted to do, and, once he had mumbled QWERTYUIOP, binding Holly's focus word so that she couldn't say it, Alexandra pulled Nimrod slightly aside in order to converse privately.

"Should she be acting like this?" Alexandra asked him, a note of uncertainty creeping into her voice. She couldn't ever remember being so compliant with her own parents' punishments when she'd been sixteen.

"I'm not sure," Nimrod admitted sheepishly, "But I don't think so. She always got very worked up whenever Mark attempted to enforce homework rules. Silly things. I don't believe in them, myself."

"Obviously." Alexandra said dryly, and turned to look over at her great-great nephew, who was in the midst of interrogating his stepmother.

"And how long did Holly know you weren't dead?" He asked Sarah, as though he was looking for something to be angry about, even as the shock wore off and he began to feel happy tears welling up in his eyes with the wonderful revelation.

"Only since yesterday, at Heathrow." Sarah was quick to assure him. "And the first thing she did was to make me promise to tell you as soon as we got back to London."

Mark bowed his head in an attempt to hide the tears that he couldn't prevent any longer, and seeing them, Holly smiled.

"I'm glad you're okay, Sarah." Mark said quietly, so his voice would remain as neutral as possible.

Sarah reached over and squeezed her step-son's arm comfortingly. "I'm just sorry for my thoughtlessness in not telling you sooner. Perhaps I could accompany you back to London and we could talk about your life over a cup of tea?"

Mark nodded. "I'd like that."

* * *

Rudyard glared at Casca irritably. "Why'd you go and drag me in here?" He scowled.

"Holly wanted you to be out of sight, most likely because of what your father said. Besides, you don't really want to have Nimrod involved, do you?"

Rudyard, still scowling, looked away. "No." He admitted grudgingly. "But I don't have to be happy to be stuck in this cluttered mess, do I?"

He sat down on a finely upholstered sofa in the small reading section that was surrounded by overstuffed bookshelves bursting with the books that Nimrod thought Holly ought to read and put his frayed sneakers up on the coffee table quite disrespectfully. Frowning, Casca pushed Rudyard's feet back onto the floor with one hand. "Oh no you don't." He said. "You need to bathe. Slowly expiring within that jade coffin has not done your personal hygiene any favours. Here, I'll show you to your room."

Rudyard frowned. "I have a room? Why?"

"Well to begin with, yes, I just made it and that's because it's likely that we'll be spending quite some time in this lamp, and I'd rather you didn't invade Holly's privacy too much." Casca explained succinctly, hauling Rudyard to his feet and dragging him out of the stacks to a pair of very understated, almost out of place doors. "And based on your assessment of the common area as a 'cluttered mess,' I've furnished your room in a minimalistic style. Feel free to modify it to your liking." Casca opened the door on the left and pushed Rudyard inside, shutting the door behind him.

"Hey," Rudyard said through the door, suddenly thinking of something that had been bothering him. "If it's been 3 years since dad and I went under, then who replaced dad as leader of the Ifrit?"

"That would be Jirjis Ibn Rajmus," Casca explained patiently, "An unpleasant djinn, as I've gathered, but largely ineffectual, it seems."

Rudyard jerked the door open, to look Casca in the face. " _Jirjis took over from dad?!_ " He nearly shouted, his expression uncharacteristically grave and perhaps even a little panicked. He was so loud that Holly must have heard from the outside, for the entire lamp shuddered with an irritable tap.

Casca frowned, steadying himself deftly. "That's what I've deduced, yes. Is that a problem for you or something?"

Rudyard ran a hand through his unwashed hair- maybe they were right, he really did need a shower- and began to pace. "Dammit dammit dammit dammit _dammit_." He muttered to himself. "Don't you know what kind of a reputation Jirjis has?!"

"I believe he's something of an axe murderer," Casca remarked calmly. "But I've only met the man once. What is it you're so worked up about?"

"Axe murderer. Ha. You know how he _got_ that reputation? By chopping his wife up into little bits and tossing her into the sewers. You know what he's been trying to do _since_ then? Mass. Flipping. Murder. Even granddad never went for mass murder besides making a couple volcanoes erupt when he was cranky."

"I thought the Ifrit had no problem with killing. After all, you're evil djinn." Casca observed Rudyard's blind panic with interest.

"We don't, but there's a big difference between ruling everyone and killing everyone for the hell of it, idiot. And if Jirjis hasn't done anything yet, that's because he's probably been drowning in all the paperwork dad let fall by the wayside."

"Azazel seemed fairly indiscriminate when it came to killing, though."

"Azazel's a half-demon," Rudyard snapped. "Everyone expects him to do shit like that. Jirjis is... different."

"So why exactly are you so terrified of Jirjis?" Casca asked patiently.

"I'm not terrified!" Rudyard said, clearly terrified out of his mind. Another resounding tap told him that he'd been too loud. "I'm not. It's just that with Jirjis officially in power and dad back, there's going to be blood and it's going to be the blood of _my tribe._ Heck, it might even be my _family_."

"Oh, yes, have I mentioned that Azazel nearly killed your brother Jonathan last summer? Because that happened. He's okay, though."

"Mark my words, you... whatever you are, Jirjis is going to spring into action soon, and it's not going to be pretty. And when Azazel's out of the picture, dad's going to want his old job back- and whatever djinn die because of that, their blood will be on _your_ hands."

"Duly noted." Casca nodded patiently. "However, I'd like you to put in perspective that, in addition to Jirjis running around, not causing any sort of major mayhem for three consecutive years, there's also the tiny fact that Azazel's demonic father has risen from his prison and setting Azazel's plan into action _right now._ So forgive me if my priorities differ slightly from yours."

"Beelzebub's on the loose and you're trying to get _Azazel_ out of the picture!?" Rudyard asked in frank disbelief. "What the hell is wrong with you?"

"I like to take things one at a time." Casca replied. "Now, if that's all, you go take your shower so I can make a telephone call." He shut the door once again firmly in front of Rudyard's face that still gaped in disbelief, took his sleek blue iPhone (complete with a laughably cute angel charm that Holly had found somewhere and insisted he take,) from his trousers pocket, and tapped on the phone number marked _Michael_.

As the phone rang (appropriately enough using the _Hallelujah_ chorus from Handel's _Messiah_ ,) Casca waited patiently for the archangel to pick up.

"Casca?" Came the gruff voice of Saint Michael on the other end. "You're using my direct line. What's the emergency?"

"Michael! Hello, yes, I need to report that my father has escaped his prison." Casca spoke calmly, though internally he felt like screaming with the same terror that Rudyard had displayed when talking about Jirjis. There was a shuffling sound from the other end of the line, and a faint crash.

"What's your source?" Michael asked, deadly serious.

"The prophet Holly Godwin had a vision this morning. Her exact words were ' _If one thing you understand,/ Flies have risen from the sand._ ' That's a reliable source, isn't it?"

There was a pause as Michael wrote down everything Casca had told him. Then the archangel gave a soft gasp. "Azrael!" He cried, as though forgetting that Casca was still on the phone. "Azrael, get over here!"

A female voice said something indistinguishable, but Michael talked over her.

"This is your style, isn't it? Couplets?"

"Sir, I'm still here-" Casca said quietly, but was cut off as Michael dropped his phone and the speakerphone clicked on.

"Yes," The female voice, who was undoubtedly Azrael, agreed. "I send missives in couplets. Though I am also fond of sonnets."

"Nevertheless, how is it that you're aware of Beelzebub's return before I am?" Michael demanded impatiently.

"I would have thought that much was obvious." Azrael said blithely. "I owe him my life, my position, and my choice. Incidentally, you should probably know that he's called in those favours in exchange for my assistance with finding his half-djinn sons and their mother."

"Are you mad, Azrael?" Michael cried with horror. "Beelzebub may once have been our brother, but he's a demon now!"

"Would you rather have absolutely no idea what he was up to than have me look like a defector?" Azrael countered. "Not everyone needs to run every decision by you, Mikhail."

"Azrael, this is a demon walking the Earth. I think I need to know _a little earlier than this_."

"Well _exuuuuuse_ me, princess." Azrael snorted. "Next time I'll be sure to blow my cover immediately, just for you. There, are you happy? Now finish your phone call, it's rude to everyone involved to start another conversation when you were already in the middle of one."

There was an irritable pause before Michael seized his phone and spoke once again to Casca. "Is that all you needed to tell me, Casca?"

"Yes," Casca replied, frowning. "But did I hear something about Beelzebub searching for me?"

"I wouldn't worry if I were you. Just focus on keeping the prophet safe and let us deal with Beelzebub. Do you read me?"

"Loud and clear, sir. Goodbye." Casca nodded, fighting the urge to salute out of habit when he ended the call.

However, instead of feeling relieved by Michael's assurance that he would take care of Beelzebub, Casca merely felt even more uneasy.

* * *

 _ **Author's notes:** Takin' a break next week b/c I'll be out of town at my brother's wedding :) enjoy this buildup of Jirjis' character that I promise will eventually amount to something at some point. Also Rudyard Teer is such an ignominious little prick i love writing him_

 _~Lucinda_


	29. Chapter 28: Cassius Alone

_tw: death, ptsd, gore, more demons_

 **Chapter 28: Cassius Alone**

Buck landed elbows-first on the dirt road in front of the Temple of Ninety-five Domes. Grimacing painfully as he examined the scrapes he now sported, he scowled back in the general direction of the Hotel Casa Fortuna. "You could have been a bit more careful with that landing, loser." He muttered, even though Bart was far too far away to hear him. Setting aside his annoyance and stinging elbows, Buck looked around without much hope that he'd see Cassius walking up the path as if nothing had happened. True to his expectations, Cassius was not walking up the path as if nothing had happened: he was not walking up the path at all. Cassius was, in fact, nowhere in sight.

"So should I wait for him to show up or just go ahead without him?" Buck wondered to himself, weighing the possibilities against each other. "I mean, he could take awhile. Plus I could ask the green dude where he is. But he might be in real trouble now, and knowing him he wouldn't do much to help himself." Impatient by nature, Buck stopped dithering almost immediately. Nodding to himself, Buck brushed himself off, wished up a fresh package of jelly beans, and marched into the temple.

Unlike that morning, Mssrs. Chatterjee, Mukherjee, and Bannerjee were nowhere to be seen, and the enormous temple was eerie in its peaceful quiet. Setting aside his dislike for religious buildings in general, Buck nevertheless did not slow his pace until he came to the edge of the lake behind the temple and knelt on the bank to once again arrange a small offering of candles and jelly beans on a lily pad and send it floating off onto the lake.

It felt strange, after travelling with Cassius for so long, to be going somewhere, doing something substantial on his own, a thought that surprised him a little. Back when he'd been in school, Buck had always preferred his own company, preferred to keep his distance from everyone, at first because of his rather unfortunate superiority complex, and then because of what had happened to one of his few non-djinn friends, Brad Blennerhassit. Buck realized with a sickening jolt in his stomach that Brad and his father had been the first dead bodies he'd ever seen in real life. And he'd played a part in their deaths. He shivered a little, now remembering the bloody mess that had once been Father Desai's tidy office. Despite Brad and his father being murdered, their deaths had been relatively gore-less: each killed by a simple cobra bite. The same had been true of his Aunt Felicia's gorilla butler, Max, of whom Buck had been extremely fond, as he'd never asked too many questions.

Buck had hardly known Father Desai. Heck, he didn't even know the priest's first name. Yet there had been so much blood... how was that even possible? He remembered seeing only one stab wound, yet...

"Death is always a sad affair, young djinn." A sudden voice said from the lake, and Buck gave a start and looked up at the Green Dervish.

"Uh, sorry, I didn't see you there." Buck cleared his throat and internally wished that Cassius was there to back him up. His cousin seemed to be so much better at talking to these angel-types: possibly because he didn't have the same first instinct that Buck had to be as sarcastic as possible. "But... well, we got rid of that demon."

The Green Dervish nodded solemnly, or as solemnly as was possible while munching on jelly beans. "Yes, but at what cost? The life of one of God's servants, the good conscience of your already struggling cousin, the loss of a shepherd for so many who need one? What's done is done, and cannot be undone, yet it is such a tragedy any way you look at it, is it not?"

"Uh... Yeah." Buck agreed. "Cas sorta went running off after we found the body."

"You want to know if he remains sane of mind." The Green Dervish nodded. "My sources tell me that he still struggles with the ugliness he now sees within his soul, but, thanks to a very unlikely source, he is past the worst of it."

Buck frowned. "Unlikely source? What unlikely source?"

The Green Dervish smiled grimly. "Your father, young djinn. Once again he roams the Earth, freed from his prison by those who seek to take Azazel's power from him."

Struggling to repress his blind panic, Buck tried to think who the angel was talking about, and soon enough, he came to the correct conclusion. " _Holly_?!" He asked in a strangled voice, feeling a frisson shudder down his spine. "Why would she go and do a thing like that?! _How_ 'd she do a thing like that?"

"Cassius' angelic counterpart helped her. Though, rest assured, had your father not possessed an adequate sense of regret for his past actions, he would not have been freed at all."

"But..." Buck found himself unable to form a coherent sentence, so discombobulated was he. With a sudden twinge of empathy, he realized that this must be what Cassius had felt when he'd heard the news of Beelzebub's return.

"Regardless, you want to find your cousin again, yes? And then you want a destination to press onwards, correct?"

Buck was still somewhat shell-shocked, and all he could do was nod wordlessly. The Green Dervish clapped his hands and all of a sudden Buck was surrounded by mountaineering gear- enough supplies to last two people several weeks up in the mountains.

"To climb up the mountainous center of the universe, you will need these, but to reach your destination, you will need one more companion besides yourself and your cousin- despite your pure intentions, the both of you will not be allowed entry without the company of one who is fully content with their own life."

Buck spluttered wordlessly before finally gathering his wits enough to form real words. "Where on earth are we supposed to find a person like that?!" He asked indignantly. "And where's Cas, anyway? Didn't you say you'd help me find him?"

"I did indeed." The Green Dervish agreed. "Look to the water." He ran a hand through his long black hair and pulled a strand between his fingers. Making a sweeping movement with his arm, the angel allowed the strand of hair to fall to the surface of the water, where it floated in a perfect circle. Within this circle, the water shimmered and glowed slightly, showing a map of India, and then zooming in to a place outside of Kolkata, not altogether too far from the Temple of Ninety-Five Domes, where Buck saw Cassius.

Cassius was walking slowly down a dirt road, still a bloody wreck but thinking hard. Was he making the right choice, by carrying on? Was he pushing his delicate and gentle soul towards Hell by simply walking away from his crime? He'd never ever intended to harm anyone from the outset, but here he was, blood on his hands and the world robbed of a life. The life of a good man, no less.

Though that brought up another troubling question: if Iblis hadn't been a phantasm, or a figment of Cassius' guilty imagination, then why had he given Cassius such sage advice? The initial doubts that Cassius had held about his uncle's actual presence on the bridge were all but tossed into oblivion because of the simple fact that he had physically saved Cassius' life. Iblis had dragged him back over the railings when Cassius had wanted nothing more than to let go of them. Setting aside the equally troubling question of why Iblis was roaming around again- hadn't he been imprisoned for eternity?- the question of the advice given came down to one of two scenarios: a) Iblis had absolutely zero idea who Cassius was and had given advice to a complete stranger, or b) Iblis knew _exactly_ who Cassius was and had given advice to the estranged son of his disowned sister. Either way, there were worrisome implications.

Cassius walked, frowning to himself, until at last he became aware of the girl standing directly in front of him, blocking his path. Clearly not Indian, the girl had a sallow, skeletal face surrounded by limp brown hair that had been sloppily cut into a bob hairstyle, a largeish nose, dead eyes, and a manic grin that somehow took up much more of her face than it should. This was especially disconcerting, considering that her red blouse, blue shorts, and most of her skinny bare legs were spattered with fresh blood. Cassius couldn't quite place why she looked familiar, but instinctively, he knew that he was in trouble.

"Oh dear," the girl sighed, the grin on her face never once wavering. "It looks like playtime is over and work has begun. Shame, I was having so much fun." She kicked aside something that Cassius had initially dismissed as an oddly-shaped log, but on closer inspection was the mutilated corpse of a young man, not altogether too much older than Cassius himself.

What little contents still remained in his stomach churned uncomfortably, and Cassius took a step back. "Who are you?"

"You mean you don't remember me? My, my, that's quite hurtful." The girl tutted, twirling a lock of hair between two bloody fingers. "I'm Lilith, of course."

Cassius' insides gave another unpleasant jolt as he remembered, if vaguely, this same girl in the tomb that had once held Beelzebub, though he didn't feel that the memories were his own. Maybe that was why they were so fuzzy: the image of Lilith in the tomb was one of a jumble that had been left by Holly when she'd saved his life and separated his spirit. He hated trying to deal with secondhand memories, something that he'd never thought he might have to deal with or even use to his advantage.

However, the same biting, hopeless feeling that Cassius had felt when he'd confronted the demon then possessing Father Keer, was dredged up from his most desperately repressed feelings. _You're a dead djinn walking no matter what you choose to do,_ said the nasty voice in the back of his mind. _And you thought the demon you killed was bad, Lilith actually has a name, which most likely means she's way more powerful. Plus she's working for Azazel, which probably means she's working for Beelzebub. You have zero hope of getting out of this situation_.

Cassius gritted his teeth and pushed the nasty voice away, doing his best to ignore it. Fear, however justified, wouldn't help him in this situation. Besides, it would only serve to distract him more since night was quickly overtaking the road and blanketing India in dusky darkness.

What Cassius needed now was pragmatism, if only because this time, he had no one there to bail him out. He had to rely on his own wits.

"I don't think we ever officially met before now," Cassius said to Lilith, keeping his voice a controlled, polite calm. "How do you do?"

"Ooh, very well, very well indeed. I just had the most wonderful bloodbath. 128 dead, 80 more fatally wounded and dying as we speak. You know, it's quite nice that you're as polite as Azazel. Most people, they just scream and run away, or if they're feeling particularly self-righteous, they try to exorcise me. Very rude. So I kill them." Lilith gave a chuckle, though Cassius couldn't see the remotest hint of humour in murder, especially as he was now.

"That's very kind of you to say, Lilith." Cassius nodded, still locked into overly-polite mode. "Though I have to say, I don't agree with your methods. Couldn't you find a more... _humane_ way to share how you feel about people being rude to you?"

"If I did that, I could hardly be called a demon." Lilith told him cheerfully. "And besides, you're one to talk about murder. You have blood on your hands, Mr. Holier-than-thou. And here I thought you'd been completely purified. How delightful that you've corrupted your soul all on your own!"

Cassius looked down at his feet, his face burning with shame. Using Azrael's knife again was out of the question, but he couldn't think of any other way out of the situation: djinn power was most likely useless against a demon. But could he do it? Take another life, whether or not Lilith de Ghulle was still in her body, whether or not she technically deserved to die... Cassius didn't think he could. Indeed, he knew he couldn't, and moreover _wouldn't_ take another life, even for the sake of his own. It was this realization, however, that led him to a wonderful conclusion.

"I beg your pardon, but you're wrong." He said quietly.

"What was that?" Lilith asked. Cassius looked up and saw that the demon's manic grin had lessened, just slightly.

"You're wrong." Cassius repeated. "I haven't corrupted my soul."

Lilith frowned as though she didn't understand. "You've killed a man, though. Took his life away for no other reason than to protect your own. You're as much of a murderer as I am, baby cousin."

Cassius held his head high, ignoring the shame. "No, we're nothing the same, Lilith. I regret my actions. You don't."

Lilith groaned irritably. "Here comes a sermon, I can sense it. What, are you going to tell me that there's still time for me to repent my sins? That I can still go to Heaven and live happily ever after?"

"As long as there's life, there's time to repent." Cassius nodded. Then, with a stroke of inspiration, he added, "But that's not exactly what I was going to say. It's not just those you kill who you harm- you harm their families, their friends- but you also hurt someone who was once very dear to you, and to whom you are still very dear."

Lilith tossed her head haughtily. "I never had anyone like that. I never _needed_ anyone like that."

"Do you think Samael would agree?" Cassius asked calmly, and Lilith froze. She squinted at Cassius.

"And just what do you know of Samael?" She asked suspiciously.

"I know that he's taking a punishment with great grace for your sake. I know that he's still being punished for falling in love with you all that time ago."

Lilith was visibly upset and confused. "He... he wouldn't. The last time I saw him, he cursed me and cast me away as if I was no better than the clay that my body was made from. He'd never do anything for me."

"For what it's worth, I think he may still be in love with you, however much he might want to deny it himself." Now he was just making things up, and yet there was something about the statement that rang true. Samael, in the brief conversation that they'd had, _had_ seemed genuinely heartbroken and regretful when Lilith's name had come up.

Lilith shook her head. "No. You're lying. Why are you lying, you're supposed to be so pure and innocent, that's what Azazel told me anyway-"

"I'm not lying." Cassius insisted. "If you don't believe me, you can ask Samael himself. He's in the catacombs in Malpensa, Italy."

"This is just a ploy to make me leave..." Lilith said dubiously, as though she doubted her own words.

"Go to him." Cassius ordered sharply, and Lilith jumped a little, taking a step backwards.

"I... I..." She stammered, apparently trying to form a stern response, but instead, without another word, Lilith rose into the air on a whirlwind that seemed to be spun from the growing shadows around them and flew off.

Cassius watched her leave, his heart hammering staccato beats of fear-fueled adrenaline in his chest. When she was finally gone, he let out a long, relieved breath and sank to his knees, relieved and exhausted after escaping certain doom by the seat of his own wits. "I can't believe that actually worked," he breathed, shoulders sagging as if a great load had been lifted from them.

He nearly jumped out of his skin when someone called out his name.

"Cas!" yelled a familiar voice from above, and Cassius looked upwards, squinting through the dusk, to see Buck, clattering with mountain gear, riding a whirlwind that was rapidly approaching the ground. "Oof!" Buck grunted after a slight miscalculation that had him landing sprawling in the dirt. He recovered quickly, though, and scrambled over to where Cassius knelt with a surprising look of genuine concern. "Are you okay, man?" He asked. "I went to the Green Dervish guy without you, and he told me a bunch of stuff about where we should go, and then he helped me find you. I saw Lilith- what happened? How'd you get rid of her?"

"I told her about Samael, on the off chance that there might still be something to motivate her to see him. Looks like there was." Cassius explained dreamily. Now that he was thinking back on the incident, it seemed more surreal than anything else. In fact, the only thing that tied his encounter with Lilith to reality was the bloody corpse that lay before them on the road. Then something struck him that was rather less surreal. "Wait, you saw Lilith and you ran over here to help? Even knowing that she's a powerful demon?"

"Well... Yeah." Buck shuffled uncomfortably. "You're my cousin, Golden Boy. And besides that, I don't really like the idea of being alone anymore. We oddball children of Teers should stick together."

"That reminds me, I think Iblis-" Cassius began, but Buck cut him off, nodding grimly.

"-Is back. Yeah. I know. But Holz and the other you can deal with him, since they were the ones who let him loose in the first place. He's their problem, not ours. Okay?"

Cassius nodded. "Okay. So where to next?"

Buck grimaced. "The center of the universe."

* * *

 _ **Author's Notes:** Yup so my brother is married now. Also of note: I really really really want to live in an isolated cabin (with secret passages/secret speakeasy) built by a 1920's gangster in the backwoods/mountains of Pennsylvania right by a lake. No reason other than I finally saw some mountains (the baby ones tho) and I really like them. And also Nancy Drew and the Ghost Dogs of Moon Lake is my fave game right now. AND ALSO I saw so much stuff while I was in DC it's a pretty cool city 10/10 will go back again. Free museums ftw._

 _~Lucinda_


	30. Chapter 29: Splitting Hairs

_tw: suicide_

 **Chapter 29: Splitting Hairs**

The airplane ride back to London was conducted mostly in silence for a number of reasons. For Alexandra, the silence rang of the betrayal of her family- not telling her that Magnus had returned, even for only the strange period of temporary purgatorial egress. For Nimrod, the silence was mostly because Alexandra was angry with him, but also because he was trying his best to think out logically what the Marid tribe's next move should be, now that Holly had released Iblis from his prison. For Holly, it was mostly because she was sleeping again.

There was something about planes and charcoal pills that always made Holly want to take a nap, though she had a half-formed theory that this was because napping made the uncomfortable claustrophobic time go by faster, even if there was the off chance that she'd have a vision or an extremely vivid nightmare, it was still an escape.

So it was hardly surprising when she once again found herself in that familiar garden, with Gabriel shuffling his feet awkwardly under the apple tree, waiting for her.

"Yo," Holly greeted him, raising a hand and giving a short wave. "What's up?"

"Casca just telephoned Michael to say that the vision you had a few hours ago indicated that Beelzebub has returned from his imprisonment." Gabriel stated gravely.

"Yeah... that's true... And not that I don't like seeing you so much lately, but why exactly are you here? I hardly think it's to tell me things I already know."

"Well... I wanted to apologize again for my thoughtlessness. Sometimes it's all too easy to forget that my definition of 'normal' is quite different from yours." Gabriel admitted humbly. Holly smiled.

"Aw, come on, Jibril, I forgave you for that stuff hours ago. I don't like holding grudges. And besides, I'm in a really good mood right now. My parents grounded me." Holly's smile grew goofy as she confided her punishment to the angel, who only grew more puzzled.

"You aren't... _angry_ with them for punishing you?" Gabriel asked, bemused.

Holly shrugged. "Under normal circumstances, I would probably be pretty annoyed, especially since I was only doing what I thought was best for the world's safety, but 'normal' hasn't really been a part of my life, not since last June. I mean, Nimrod hardly ever puts his foot down unless it comes to wanton usage of djinn power, so I've been experimenting, seeing how far I can push before _someone_ finally learns how to parent. And besides, even if I did do what I thought was best for the sake of the world, Alexandra is totally justified in punishing me. I mean, not only did I light off to China without prior permission or even _telling_ either of them, I also dragged dad's greatest enemy out of his supernaturally-imposed retirement. So yeah, they're right to ground me." She stepped onto the low-lying stone and stuck her arms out on either side to balance on one foot.

"Ah... I see." Gabriel nodded. "Just punishment. Not many these days appreciate just punishment on a personal level."

"Wait okay you lost me. What do you mean 'just punishment?' Like, I guess it is _just_ a punishment but..." Holly scratched her head. "You know?"

"Oh, pardon. By 'Just' I mean justified. Occasionally I find the nuances of the English language getting out of my control."

"You mean like puns?"

"I don't see how this has anything to do with anything, Holly."

"I love puns. And jokes. Speaking of, did you know that elephants actually eat rotten fruit and get drunk off of it? And you know why they drink?"

"I'm not entirely sure what factual evidence you have to support this-"

"To forget!" Holly delivered the punchline and snorted at her own joke, while Gabriel frowned, blinking with mystification.

"Hilarious, I'm sure, but we're getting off topic."

"What was our topic to begin with, though? Why are you here in the first place?" Holly asked, sobering up for the most part but now and then another giggle escaped her.

"You're going to have another vision." Gabriel informed her. "So sit tight and pay attention, okay?"

"Two visions in one day? Aw, come on that's not fair!" Holly complained. "Besides, the last one was kind of terrifying, I don't want to have another one like that."

"If you feel in danger, call out my name and I'll be there in an instant to help you. Okay?" Gabriel offered kindly, and Holly sighed airily.

"Oh, fine. Okay, hit me with it."

"I don't really decide-" Gabriel said, but before his sentence was finished, Holly was gone.

She stood in a ransacked hotel room, drifting ghostlike with the slightest breeze from the humming radiator. A young man stood on a chair with his back to her, his overlong straw-coloured hair done up in a messy ponytail, his t-shirt and jeans ragged and worn, and, most worryingly of all, a noose around his neck and the other end of the rope in his other hand as he decided where best to hang himself.

"Hey wait a second!" Holly cried as the young man tossed the end of the rope over an oddly out-of-place rafter. She hadn't expected him to hear her, but to Holly's considerable surprise and deep alarm, the young man turned and looked directly at her with piercing green eyes that looked dead inside.

"Well well, Prophet." Azazel said without much emotion in his voice. "You're just in time. Come to witness the spectacle of the century? Ah, but I can't exactly promise that. I'm just quietly hanging myself, but I expect you're over the moon about that."

Holly felt horribly conflicted. On the one hand, Azazel made a point: he was her foe, shouldn't Holly be glad that he was offing himself? And yet, Holly thought, a life is a life, no matter who it belongs to.

Instead of confirming or denying whatever emotion Azazel expected her to feel at his suicide, Holly instead asked a simple question.

"Why?"

Azazel looked at her with querying silence for a few moments, then pointed to the floor, where lay two halves of a jet black mirror, broken along a jagged edge. Holly frowned and drifted over to the broken mirror for a closer look. Strangely enough, she saw herself reflected in the glass, pale and blue and looking an awful lot like a ghost, but though Azazel's reflection should have been there, the room was reflected without him in it.

"I don't get it. Are you a vampire or something?" Holly frowned.

"What? No, of course not. Don't you know what a _synopados_ is?"

"Nope." Holly shook her head. "Why's it broken?"

Azazel sighed, took the noose from around his neck, and stepped off the chair to gingerly pick up one half of the black mirror. "A _synopados_ is a djinn's soul mirror. Doesn't that daft ninny Nimrod teach you anything about djinn culture? A djinn's soul mirror reflects one's soul and mine..." He turned the piece over for Holly to see the back, as black and dull as soot- yet somehow Holly felt as though she was staring into an endless void when she looked at it.

"I still don't get it. Is it not supposed to look like that?"

"It's not supposed to be _broken_ , you simpleton." Azazel snapped. "And while it's not as though my mirror isn't supposed to have darkness in it, it's not supposed to be _this_ dark. No one's is."

"Why is it being broken a bad thing?" Holly asked, noticing with some satisfaction that Azazel's eyelid had begun to twitch irritably.

He spoke softly, as though he was trying not to draw too much attention. "I'm losing control. Do you have any idea how _important_ control is? Days go by without my knowledge, and Asher doesn't tell me what goes on. It used to just be once in awhile, a few minutes at most- but these days it seems I'm hardly lucid _at all_. And when I am..." Azazel trailed off, shivering with unspoken horror. Then he snorted at himself. "But look at who I'm talking to. The illustrious djinn Prophet. Who is most likely a figment of my unstable imagination."

"I'm not going to confirm or deny my presence here." Holly said uncomfortably. "But now that you've mentioned it, why the loose lips? They sink ships, you know. Especially if you get real chatty with your enemies."

Azazel laid the blackened mirror carefully on the floor. "Fear makes people do funny things." He said cryptically. "You know?"

Holly frowned. "I guess. But I mean, fear isn't everything. It's not very fun to have a life ruled entirely by fear."

"Yes? And what would you know about that? You don't have voices in your head, you don't have demons whispering in your ear. You have perfect control over your actions." A note of bitterness crept its way into Azazel's voice. "You have my brother's loyalty, while I... I have nothing but his hatred. I have nothing." He stepped back onto the chair and stood, once more with his back to her, hiding his expression.

"You think I don't know fear? Lemme tell you something, buddy, I'm constantly scared out of my mind- and you know something, you're one of the major causes of that." Holly put her hands on her hips, feeling rather annoyed with her arch nemesis for being so weak-willed.

"So why don't you sound scared now?" Azazel asked, his voice so soft that Holly could barely hear him.

But hear him she did; and she answered with great gusto. "Because I try not to let it get to me, and if it does, I face those fears head-on." Holly frowned. "You know, it just struck me- why am I giving you a pep talk? Oh yeah, that thing."

Azazel had looped the noose around his neck once again, and Holly drifted at top speed around the chair to face him. She was alarmed (yet somehow not at all shocked) to see tears streaming down his cheeks, his eyes scrunched up and his brow furrowed. "What?" He demanded, his voice thick with tears.

"Dude, why are you ending it like this?" Holly asked.

"I told you," Azazel said irritably. "I'm losing control. I need to end this with what little power over my own mind that I still possess. I will not have my life ending on anyone's terms but my own."

"Well that's not very fair to me, is it?" Holly complained. "And here I was, finally with a way to get you out of the picture for good,- _without_ killing you, I might add- and you're doing it yourself?"

Azazel looked at her, a wild light burning behind his eyes. "You don't get it, do you? The only way to rid this world of me permanently is with my death! Well, _here I go!_ " Without pausing to hear her protest, Azazel kicked the chair out from underneath him and fell a few feet short of the ground, dangling from the rope, his feet twitching slightly, his baggy eyes bulging, an ironic smile pasted on his face as he waited for death.

Death didn't come for Azazel. His green eyes glazed over, yes, his breath stopped, yes, his feet stopped twitching in the air, yes, but he did not die. Instead, without breath and without any emotion in his eyes, Azazel reached out a hand and waited. Shadows jumped from their places in the corners and formed a great sword- the same sword Azazel had used to cut Cas in half- which he used to cut the rope he hung from with a single easy slice. He landed, perfectly balanced, on the floor and turned his dead gaze to Holly with a sneer.

Immediately, the part of Holly's mind that sensed danger went haywire. _This was not the Azazel she knew. This was not the Azazel she had spent the last year trying to thwart._

"J-Jibril?" She called, her voice several pitches higher than usual as Azazel advanced, wielding the shadowy sword. "Yo Jibril, help me out here!"

Azazel lunged, the razor-sharp edge of the blade hurtling towards her with alarming speed, and though she was nothing more substantial than spirit, Holly knew that if that blade touched her, her end would be agonizing, gory, and inescapable. Out of options in her ethereal state, Holly braced herself, squeezed her eyes shut and hoped that Gabriel had heard her in time.

* * *

 _ **Author's Notes** **:** So we are officially over 100 pages in at this point of my current 150, and I'm still not finished wrapping everything up so... yeah. I need to get back to writing._

 _~Lucinda_


	31. Chapter 30: Iblis' Prayer

**Chapter 30: Iblis' Prayer**

"You. Did. _What._ " Dimme asked her older brother, enunciating each word with great care. Iblis grimaced again.

"Don't make me say it again."

Dimme ignored him. "Who are you and what have you done with my dumbass brother?!" She demanded, outraged.

"Dimme, you're making this much more difficult than it needs to be." Iblis mumbled.

A seething smile that was entirely at odds with the rather unhinged look behind her eyes crept across Dimme's face. "Oh, _I'm_ making things difficult? _I'm-_ Do you even hear yourself right now? I- I don't even have anything more to say about that. Just... get on with explaining and get out of here before I change my mind and get my knives out."

From his place at the window, Bart glared at Iblis and nodded supportively at Dimme's words. Iblis frowned at the Ghul before clearing his throat and hastily beginning his tale.

"It was right after Alistair was born. You'd been doing Lord only knows what with your life and honestly the only reason I knew was because I was sort of having you followed after you returned from your several months of disappearing act."

"And I sent Dahnash back to you with a knife to his throat and the sincere promise that if he tried to pull anything like that again, I'd cut his tongue out and feed it to the crocodiles."

Iblis blinked, brow furrowed and jaw wagging wordlessly in a fruitless effort to put into words the absolute horror he felt at these words. "You what?" He asked weakly.

Dimme waved her hand dismissively. "I had no intention of following through with that particular threat. But it served its purpose, didn't it? In any case, continue with this story that you think is somehow going to _magically_ get me to forgive all the shitty things you've done to me."

Iblis frowned again, not quite sure what to make of this admission, but decided that it was best if he just continued his story. "...In any case, I heard that Alistair was born and... To tell the truth, I rather broke down for awhile."

Dimme looked faintly insulted. "Why?" She asked, her lip curling with repulsion. Iblis shrugged.

"In hindsight, I attribute it to cumulative stress. I mean, being leader of the Ifrit is one thing, but being forced to disown my only sibling in order to uphold that title? And knowing that my only little sister was getting herself in deep trouble without me there to help her? I'm surprised I didn't break down sooner. I called you and called you, but you always hung up on me before I could get a word in edgeways. So I got... desperate."

"No one _forced_ you." Dimme spat bitterly, and her dark eyes narrowed. "And what exactly did you say?"

Iblis looked at his fingernails and twiddled his thumbs awkwardly. "It's not like I actually expected to get an answer... And I _was_ quite drunk that night..." He mumbled.

Dimme stood, leaned over, and once again grabbed her brother by the collar of his ragged silk pyjamas, dragged him to his feet and slammed him against the wall. " _What did you say?_ " She snarled, glaring up at him with a strange mix of urgency and anger in her expression.

Although struck by Dimme's alarming strength- there was serious power behind her grip, when had that happened?- Iblis couldn't help but notice also that even after all these years, she was still shorter than him, even in her high heels.

"All right, _all right_ , Dimme. Ease up, will you? You're bruising my collarbone."

" _Tell me what you said._ " Dimme demanded, ignoring Iblis' thinly veiled plea for mercy.

"If memory serves, my exact words were 'Goddammit, I just want my little sister to be happy.' Next thing I know, an angel shows up and starts telling me that this counted as a prayer because it was uttered with..." Iblis felt an uncomfortable lump swelling in his throat at the next words, " _selfless intent_." He finished, disgusted with himself.

Dimme's expression froze, unsure of how to react. Her anger evaporated, replaced with confusion.

Bart, by contrast, looked hardly surprised. "Did the angel tell you anything else?" He asked as Dimme let go of Iblis' collar and turned away, trying to sort through her thoughts.

"He told me that in order to answer my prayer, they'd have to take Alistair away. Cleanse his soul while there was still time. That in order for him to not be hellspawn like his brother, all sources of evil would have to be removed from his life, including his own mother."

Iblis didn't look at Dimme. He couldn't look at her. He was the reason that her infant son had been snatched away from her. He'd already known that Dimme had been doing desperate things since he'd disowned her, the fact that she'd managed to go cold was evidence enough of that. But to then lose her baby? To lose a precious son? Iblis had never understood the idea of empathy, but now, for Dimme, he tried his best to think how she might feel.

And it hurt.

Bart vacated his position by the window to stand by Dimme and embrace her gently. "Are you okay?" He asked her in a whisper. Dimme took a deep breath and, with great dignity, nodded.

"I am perfectly well." She informed him, and extracted herself from his arms in order to turn back to Iblis, her face as emotionless as she could make it. "I believe you said something about Azazel, didn't you?" She asked coolly.

Iblis cleared his throat and rubbed the bruises on his collarbone. "Yes, actually. It was the condition of my release: I have been contracted by one Holly Godwin and one Casca (an angel) to place a _diminuendo_ binding on Azazel."

"So? Why aren't you out there doing that?" Dimme asked evenly.

Iblis frowned. "He's your son." He looked up at her. "I thought you at least might try to talk me out of it. You have before, after all. Remember six years ago? He almost killed me at the djinnverso tournament but you talked us both down. And insulted me quite soundly while you were at it." Iblis frowned. "I never did figure out how you knew about the lamb costume incident. That was years before you were even born."

"Mother kept a photograph album." Dimme explained dismissively. "And in any case, you've been out of action for long enough that you don't know what Azazel has turned into. Or what he's done."

"Oh, I know about your demon lover being back. What I'm more interested in is that Holly Godwin character I mentioned. Not that I'm surprised, but why is a Marid like her meddling in the affairs of demons?"

Dimme stared straight ahead and tried to pretend that her cheeks hadn't darkened noticeably at Iblis' description of Beelzebub. Somehow, Bart's hand found its way around hers and she squeezed it gratefully. "The Godwin girl? You mean Nimrod's daughter?" She asked. "She's a prophet. The first djinn prophet in a good long time. She's the one behind the diminuendo binding idea? It figures."

Iblis looked mildly surprised by the revelation of Holly's identity. "Nimrod has a daughter?" Iblis couldn't help it: he snorted with laughter. "How's that for irony? Nimrod's daughter undos all the hard work he put into defeating me."

"And she's this age's prophet, so it's highly advisable that you do as you're told." Dimme told him coldly, though she did have to admit to herself that the irony of Holly's reported actions was quite amusing, even if she'd never admit it to Iblis. "Go on, Blissy. Shoo."

Iblis looked affronted. "Don't call me that. You're not ten years old anymore, you know." Secretly, he was glad. It was as though the usage of the old nickname was an offer of a truce.

Dimme smirked. "Maybe not, but you forget, _Blissy_ , that you always let me get away with whatever I wanted when I called you that. Now go do your job."

Iblis rolled his eyes. "It was only to get you to leave me alone." He protested weakly.

Dimme pulled her hand out of Bart's and began pushing her brother towards the door. "Yeah, and all those flower crowns I made for you looked lovely on you in your big boss Ifrit meetings."

Bart snorted and opened the door for them.

Before allowing Dimme to push him back into the hallway, Iblis put out a hand and paused in the doorway, looking back at Dimme with a serious visage once again.

"Dimme, I truly am sorry." He said, meeting her eyes. Dimme looked back at her brother, the impish smile that she hadn't even realized had snuck onto her face slipping right back off.

"And I told you already, you can't expect me to forgive you just like that. But..." Dimme gave one last push and Iblis stumbled into the hallway. "Thank you for at least telling me what happened. I... See you later."

She shut the door in his face and leaned her back against it, sighing wearily and allowing her eyelids to sag. She'd never imagined just one conversation could be so draining. "Well, now, it's time for us to..." Dimme opened her eyes to address Bart, only to find that he was frozen in place and, across the room regarding Dimme with a cold calm expression was a woman in clinking chainmail and black robes, a broadsword at her hip.

"Dimme Teer." The woman announced with little emotion in her voice. "You can accompany me willingly or unwillingly. It is your choice."


	32. Chapter 31: London Calling

_tw: extensive but preexisting injuries_

 **Chapter 31: London Calling**

It was raining when the plane landed at Heathrow, and Holly's heart felt as though it was going to pound its way out of her ribcage fueled by sheer, uncontrollable panic alone.

She'd woken up in a dreadful state, even after Gabriel had dragged her back into her mind-garden and made several valiant attempts to calm her down, which did have some effect as proven by the fact that Holly didn't wake up screaming fit to raise the dead. As it was, she had to take several deep breaths to try and get her heart rate back down to normal, and Alexandra, seated next to her, couldn't help but pay attention to this development.

"What is it, Holly? A vision? A nightmare?" Alexandra asked, a little stonier than she would have normally.

"I... Azazel... He..." Holly panted, shaking her head. What had that even meant? What was happening to Azazel?

Alexandra frowned. "You're far too jumpy right now to explain anything like that, particularly if it has to do with Azazel. Is it of grave and immediate importance?"

Holly paused. Then she shook her head.

"Then why don't you try and wait until we get home. It will give you time to collect your thoughts and your wits. But don't you go thinking that whatever dire vision you've had will get you out of your punishment, young djinn." Alexandra reminded her sternly. It was really quite amazing how staunchly motherly Alexandra could be when she actually tried.

Across the aisle, next to Groanin, Nimrod yawned. "London already? My goodness, either airplanes are getting more efficient or I'm really getting old."

Alexandra gave him a look that told him quite clearly that she was not amused by his little joke. However, Holly would note when she had finally calmed down enough to notice such things, it was not an angry or irritated look on Alexandra's part: it was the look of an old friend, groaning silently at the terrible joke of another old friend.

Now, however, Holly could barely process the buzzing feeling going on between her ears the traces of panic trying to subside as she allowed herself to be shepherded from the plane, clutching her carry-on bag so tightly that Mark had to pry it from her grasp when they got to customs.

At some point she might have noticed Nimrod and Alexandra quietly discussing something in low, conspiratorial voices, and, had she been not so out of it, Holly might have taken more notice of the fact that, customs cleared, Nimrod and Groanin parted ways from the rest of them, heading to a different part of the terminal as Alexandra, Sarah, Mark, and Holly all went outside to hail a taxi to take them home, rather than cramming into the Rolls-Royce as usual.

Holly might have noticed all these things, and indeed, when she finally calmed down enough to ponder such things while she was drying her slightly steaming damp hair (a result of the scalding hot shower she had taken the moment she had gotten home,) she realized with sudden clarity what she had to do next. Leaving her towel hanging like a scarf around her neck, Holly hurried over to her bed, where she had left her bag and in it, her silver lamp containing Rudyard Teer and Casca.

She dug the lamp out, tossing most of the other belongings aside as she did so, and held it up in front of her. She had never quite been able to wrap her head around the idea of being able to talk to someone from outside of a lamp. Nimrod had explained, in his usual long-winded way, that a djinn entering a lamp essentially enters a different dimension, and therefore a different time relative to space from the outside world. How, then, Holly wondered, was it possible to get an outside signal- either radio, television, telephone, or any outside sound at all, really,- without getting that signal horribly scrambled. Nevertheless, Holly put aside her doubts about physics she barely understood and spoke to the lamp- or rather, to Casca himself, in a clear voice, keeping it as steady as she was able.

"Hey Casca? Can you hear me? We need to talk. It's about Azzy."

From where she had tossed it on her bed, her phone rang. Holly jolted with surprise and nearly dropped the lamp. She caught it, fumbling, and heard muffled and rather indistinguishable swearing from Rudyard. Placing the lamp gingerly on her bedside table, Holly picked up her ringing phone and checked to see who was calling her. To her surprise, there was no number or name, merely a photograph of Casca with an MS paint-style sloppily drawn halo and pair of wings to match*. Cautiously, Holly accepted the call.

"Hello?" She spoke carefully into the microphone. Sure enough, it was Casca's chipper, slightly drowsy and drawling voice that answered.

"What's up, Hol? What do you need to talk about?"

"Cas? What's with the phone?" Holly asked, a little weirded out by this development. Angels didn't use cell phones.*

"It's for ease of communication. Also some measure of privacy, with Rudyard in here as well. But you're getting distracted, Hol. Azazel- what about him?"

"Oh, yeah, him. I think he's going crazy or something." Holly confessed, sitting on her bed and trying to rid herself of the sensation of trembling knees.

"Crazy? How so?" Casca asked, his tone betraying how highly interested he was in this subject.

"Well," Holly began, trying to quell the horde of fluttering anxiety moths that had taken up residence in her intestines,* "First off, he tried to hang himself. Then he said something about a mirror and losing all control of himself and he showed me this really creepy black mirror that had broken right through the middle." She paused. Casca, though he had the opportunity to say something, uncharacteristically remained quiet. "Uh... And then he hung himself, but then this... change... happened, and it was like he was a completely different person. Still evil, but _waaay_ more bloodthirsty. And dangerous. And really, really scary. The creepiest thing about it was he didn't talk after that happened. He tried to kill me, Cas, and I was nothing but a spirit then, but I have zero doubt that he could have done it if Jibril hadn't gotten me outta Dodge fast enough."

She waited again to hear Casca's response, but again he was silent on his end of the call.

"Cas?" Holly asked tentatively. "Are you still there?"

"Hm? Oh, yes, I'm still here." Casca assured her, clearly lost in deep thought. "By any chance, did he call that broken mirror his _synopados_?"

The name was familiar to Holly, and she nodded, without realizing that Casca couldn't see her. "Yes, that was it. He called it his 'soul mirror,' I think. It was really, really dark, Cas. Like, pitch black. At least the half I saw was. It was creepy."

"Holly, do you know what happened to my soul last February?" Casca asked with stricken urgency.

"Yeah, it got split into the djinn you and the angel you. Why?"

"The moment That I realized my angelic form, my own soul mirror broke into two. Before that, it had been deeply cracked, but Azazel's interference allowed the perfect opportunity to make a clean break. I had thought it worrisome when I first encountered my _synopados_ , but now I see that without my clean break, my utter separation from the contradictory nature of my old being, that I doubtless would have begun to go mad., and my mirror, quite possibly, may have shattered a lot less neatly. This may be what is happening with Azazel, though rather than an angelic form..." Casca trailed off, his voice so tense that Holly could practically see his furrowed eyebrows.

"...He's taking on the form and personality of a demon." Holly finished. "But Cas, I don't think he means to. I think it scares him. A lot. I mean, why else would he try to hang himself? And he said all this stuff about 'ending things on his own terms' and 'not having any control anymore.' I don't think he's in charge of his demon-y self."

"No, you're quite right, I believe. I'll report this to Michael as well. Is Sarah still around?"

"Yes, I think she and Mark are catching up."

"Good, good. Tell her that she should stick around. I think it's a good idea for you to have corporeal protection."

"Cas, I'm a djinn I can-" Holly protested, her anxiety moths flapping up a hurricane in her small intestines.

"Hol, you're under a binding and you're still very new to this whole djinn power thing anyway. Besides, I _will not_ have my best friend getting hurt or even _dying_ because she's too stubborn to accept a little help from an angel who's had years of experience with this sort of thing. Okay?"

Holly pouted, though secretly she was very happy about this development. "Okay."

"Good." Casca smiled. "I'm going to report this to Michael now. Goodbye." He hung up abruptly, and his slightly silly self-portrait vanished from the screen of Holly's cell phone. Sighing, Holly set the phone on her bedside table, next to the lamp, and lay back on her bed, among the possessions she had scattered on the bedspread, feeling quite as though she could do with at least one dreamless, visionless, nightmareless, stressless sleep.

Her attention was invariably demanded elsewhere in a matter of seconds: downstairs in the entrance hall was rising a bit of a commotion.

Feeling annoyed but curious, hastily Holly stood up, ran a brush through her hair, wound her yellow hijab around her head, leaving the ends loose, and hurried to the front staircase.

There were more suitcases in the entrance hall than there should have been, Holly noticed.

Alexandra was standing by the door, talking pleasantly (even a little apologetically,) to a redhead that Holly initially mistook for Sarah, but on closer inspection...

"Phil!" Holly cried with a grin, and bounded down the stairs two at a time.

At the sound of Holly's voice, Philippa Gaunt turned and smiled hugely. "Hol! Happy birthday, cuz! Oh my gosh, you got glasses! When did that happen? They're so cute!"

"Like two months ago. Alexandra picked them out." Holly explained, hugging her cousin. "I can't believe you're actually here! Oh, man, it's like old times again. Where's John?"

Philippa's smile became strained. "Well..." She readjusted her own glasses awkwardly and shrugged, gesturing weakly towards the open front door.

Holly looked out, taking a few steps away from Philippa and Alexandra to look out into the rain, where John was sitting patiently in a wheelchair, holding up a large umbrella and waiting for Nimrod and Groanin to figure out how to set up a collapsible ramp over the front steps. Both of his legs were in thick casts, his other arm in a sling, and bandages were wrapped around his head, both hands, and peeping out of the collar of his black t-shirt. Seeing Holly, John smiled, a little half-heartedly, and raised his broken arm gingerly in a somewhat sheepish wave.

"Heya, Hol!" He called, raising his voice to be heard over the rain. "How was your birthday? Did you get the video games I sent you?"

Holly felt speechless. She gestured wordlessly at him, trying to articulate some intelligible question, but ended up finally shouting at him with bellowing outrage "What the chimichangas happened to you?! Did you fall off a skyscraper or something?!"

John's sheepish smile flickered, and his dark eyes darted towards his sister, who had joined Holly in the doorway, and then to Nimrod, who, it seemed, had finally figured out how to unfold the ramp. "Eh," John shrugged brokenly, "I slipped on the stairs."

Holly frowned. There was something about this assertion that stank of lies to Holly, but she couldn't quite think of what reason John could possibly have for lying to everyone like that. Clearly, he was extremely hurt, and clearly there was more to it than just slipping on some stairs.

Philippa tugged on Holly's sleeve. "Let's get out of the doorway, Hol. Anyway, John does have a point. Did you like the presents we sent you?"

"Huh?" Holly stared blankly at her cousin for a moment before remembering- _ah yes, yesterday had been her birthday._ "Oh, uh... yeah. I sort of got myself grounded from video games and stuff, though, so I can't start on them for like another month."

"You got yourself grounded?" Philippa asked, rather amazed. "How did you manage that?"

"By going to China without telling anyone." Alexandra explained sternly. "And I'll thank you and your brother, Philippa dear, to not help Holly try and evade her punishment."

" _China_?" Philippa asked incredulously, laughing a little at the sheer unbelievability of such a thing. "You went to China on your own? Just like _that_?" she snapped her fingers for emphasis.

Holly shrugged. "Yeah, I did a stupid thing. I know. But it was important. Which reminds me, we need to do some catching up, Phil."

"Catching what up?" John asked, wheeled indoors by a rather disgruntled Groanin and followed by Nimrod, who set John's umbrella by the hatstand and closed the front door behind them, shivering a little pathetically.

"It's jolly cold out there," Nimrod commented, shaking water off of his shoes. "Groanin, could you light a few fires? And where on earth is Mark, he can help you-"

"Is Mark supposed to be doing that kind of stuff yet?" Holly interrupted. "He has a concussion, doesn't he? Doesn't that mean he's not supposed to be operating heavy machinery and whatever for awhile? Or, you know, _fire_?"

Nimrod frowned as Groanin nodded and set off to stoke the fires around the house. "You have a point..."

Alexandra rolled her big brown eyes. "I'll take care of the fires. Holly, you and your cousins go to the front parlour and I'll tell Mark to bring you three a spot of brunch. But if you should violate any of the rules I set earlier, I _will_ know and there _will_ be consequences, young djinn."

Holly nodded, but paused for a moment while Philippa walked to her brother's wheelchair. "Am I allowed to have hot drinks that _aren't_ tea, so long as I don't have tea and I don't have hot meals? Like, can I have hot cocoa with cold scones and whatever?"

Alexandra pondered this question for a moment before shaking her head. "No hot drinks. At least not for you. If either of you," she turned her attention to John and Philippa, "want tea or hot cocoa, you may certainly have whatever you wish."

Alexandra swept away towards the dining room, doubtlessly with the intention of building a fire and informing Mark of the new arrivals, leaving the Gaunts, Holly, and Nimrod standing in the front hall, feeling awkward. Nimrod cleared his throat.

"Well, I have a few telephone calls to make. I'll be in the library. Be sure to listen to your mother, Holly." He said, and hurried away to his cluttered library.

Holly turned back to John and Philippa and was unpleasantly surprised to find that both twins looked uncharacteristically downcast and morose.

"'Wish,' huh?" John repeated, his voice thick with bitter irony. "I wish."

"John, Aunt Alexandra didn't mean it like that and you know it." Philippa admonished, though she was sounding quite as morose as her brother.

Holly's brow furrowed as she looked from one twin to the other. "Okay, both of you need to tell me what's really going on here." She announced, feeling more than a little uncomfortable by this sudden change in attitude from her cousins.

"Oh, sorry." Philippa apologized. "It's just... let's go to the parlour and sit down. It's kind of a long story, and it seems like you have an equally long one to tell us."

* * *

 _ **Author's Notes:** Okay, a few things~~_

 _1\. that picture of Cassius? He totally made it himself. What a NERD._

 _2."Angels don't have cell phones" sounds like a title for one of those Bailey School Kids books. You know the ones. "Genies Don't Ride Bicycles?" (If Holly noticed this book she would totally buy a bicycle and ride it everywhere out of sheer spite and/or irony.)(Also to make Nimrod cringe when she leaves the book lying around for him to see.)_

 _3\. "Anxiety moths..." I mean, the term "butterflies in stomach" is so dull, isn't it?_

 _Later!_

 _~Lucinda_


	33. Chapter 32: What Poet is the Cat's Meow?

_tw: corpses, body horror, some gore_

 **Chapter 32: What Poet is the Cat's Meow?**

"Okay, but the question remains, Buck, where are we going to find a person who's completely happy with their life?" Cassius asked pragmatically.

Buck grinned. "At first I had no idea, either, but I was thinking about it on the way here and- hear me out on this- Nepal."

Cassius frowned, pausing in his rather morbid task of burying the poor soul who had been killed by Lilith. He leaned on the shovel and squinted curiously over at Buck, who was standing by the rather mountainous pile of climbing supplies, acting as lookout. "Why Nepal? What about Denmark- the Danish people have been voted the happiest in the world several times in a row."

"Well Denmark isn't on the way. I don't think, anyway. I'm still not sure where this 'mountainous centre of the universe' is, really. But c'mon, man, Nepal has _hippies._ "

Cassius went back to shoveling dirt back into the hole he'd laboriously dug. "I see where you're coming from, I guess. Though the hippie community in Nepal hasn't existed since the 1970's. They all got deported to northern India, places like West Bengal and Uttar Pradesh." Cassius explained like an unenthusiastic Encyclopaedia Britannica entry.

Buck frowned. "Okay, but I totally saw some hippies right outside of Kathmandu only three years ago." Cassius ignored him.

"As for this 'mountainous centre of the universe,' that sort of sounds like a Buddhist folktale my mom used to tell me." He wiped some dirt from his face pensively.

"Wait, Dimme-?"

"No," Cassius interrupted, with some considerable annoyance. "Nia Malone. My adoptive mother. She was very Buddhist, even though she went to Mass with dad and me every Sunday. When I was small, she told me all sorts of stories and folktales."

"Why did she go to Mass if she was so Buddhist?" Buck asked nosily, but Cassius ignored him.

"It was said that this mountain- Mount Meru, people called it,- was the center of the flat world, a world that was arranged like a mandala. Time and space are always infinite, but at the peak of Mount Meru, people can be infinite as well."

"Yeah, that's real great, but where is it?"

"There's a real-life Mount Meru in the Pamirs, north of India and northwest of the Himalayas, but people have climbed it before and found pretty much just what you'd expect out of any mountain."

"It's like you're a walking encyclopaedia," Buck commented, almost to himself, and cleared his throat. "Well those people probably didn't have a perfectly happy person, did they? And besides, it looks like I was sort of right, northern India _is_ on the way."

"Yes, I suppose you are, though it's not Nepal." Cassius agreed, a little reluctantly. "But it'll be really cold up there in the mountains, won't it? Aren't you worried about being able to use your powers?"

I'm getting the hang of them," Buck shrugged. "I've been practicing with my focus word instead of wishing out loud, and I think it's started working. Here, I'll show you." Buck concentrated, scrunching his face up with visible effort. "ZYGOBRANCHIATE," He muttered, and the next moment, Cassius discovered that he was suddenly no longer covered with the blood of murder victims: only dirt. Buck opened one eye and grinned. "There we go. Can't have you wandering around all bloody. People would ask questions."

"Thank you," Cassius mumbled, and neatly shoveled the rest of the earth into the grave, patting it with his shovel to make the soil firm and not easily moved by weather or wild animals. Truth be told, he didn't quite know how to feel about being washed of the marks of his sins so easily. On the one hand, yes, he knew it was probably a very good thing that Buck had thought of this before they'd gone anywhere, but on the other hand, it was as though nothing had happened, and such an implication frightened Cassius more than he could express in words.

Cassius gazed pensively at the oblong mound of dirt. "I've heard that the mountains are a good place to pray," He muttered thoughtfully, though even to himself, his thoughts seemed a mystery.

A few hours ago, Buck would have poked good-natured fun at his cousin's devout piety, and doubtless a few hours ago Cassius would have laughed it off, but now... so much had changed today, it seemed incomprehensible. Could a person's world be flipped upside-down and inside-out in such a short time? As bizarre as it was, Buck already knew the answer to that question. He'd learned that lesson himself. But still... there was nothing that had come out of Jonathan Tarot's regrettable rise to fame and crash into infamy that adequately mirrored killing an innocent man, even if that innocent man was possessed by a murderous demon. The memory of losing his powers- really, they were almost back to normal now, so it hardly counted anyway- seemed like small potatoes with regard to the haunted look that glimmered restlessly in Cassius' eyes, unfathomable and deeply uncertain.

So instead of poking fun, Buck simply nodded. "All right, let's get going, Golden Boy." He said carefully, placing a hand on Cassius' shoulder to make sure that his cousin had heard him.

Cassius nodded quietly in response. "Just a minute. We can't leave this guy's grave unmarked. APOGEOTROPICAL."

Buck blinked, and the next moment there was a simple, rather antique-looking granite headstone with an inscription in a gracefully curling language that Buck could neither read nor recognize. "What's it say?" He asked curiously. He wondered how Cassius could write anything about a man he'd never met, and moreover had no idea who he'd been in life.

" _When You and I behind the Veil are past, /Oh, but the long, long while the World shall last,/Which of our Coming and Departure heeds /As the Sea's self should heed a pebble-cast._ " Cassius quoted softly. "It's a stanza from _The Rubaiyat of Omar Khayyam_ , written in Hindi. I felt it was fitting for an epitaph."

"You just know stanzas from ancient poetry off the top of your head and can translate them into Hindi?" Buck asked incredulously. Cassius glanced over at him, dead-eyed and unsmiling.

"I have _The Rubaiyat_ memorized in its entirety." He explained tonelessly. "And I wished the epitaph to be written in this man's native language. I suppose it's a good thing that I can read a lot of languages. That and I have a translation app on my phone."

Cassius stepped away from the grave and bowed respectfully. "I sincerely apologize if burial is not your custom, sir." He spoke quietly, as though he wished to keep this conversation between him and the gravestone. "But I don't know what else I can do for you. I am very sorry that you were killed by that demon and I will most certainly pray for your repose when I get the chance." He crossed himself and bowed again before finally turning towards Buck and picking up a few of the bags of supplies. "All right, I'm ready now. Let's get going. We can try Uttar Pradesh, first."

Buck grimaced. Uttar Pradesh brought back more strange memories for him, and he wasn't exactly looking forward to returning to the place he'd been held captive by an insane cult leader, but he chose again to say nothing, instead, he hauled up the rest of the clanking supplies and, after a deep breath, bellowed his focus word into the rapidly darkening sky.

* * *

A few hours on a slightly faulty whirlwind (Buck kept insisting that it was because of the weather and the strangeness of his refurbished powers, and Cassius was too melancholy to argue the point) brought the two djinn to a shadowy mountain range. Cassius frowned at the landscape.

"Are you sure we're going the right way?" he asked skeptically.

Buck bristled. "Of course I'm sure!" He looked down at the mountains as well and squinted at them. "We were heading north, right?"

"This looks way too far north to be Uttar Pradesh, though." Cassius pointed out.

"Have you ever been there?" Buck retorted. When Cassius remained silent, Buck snorted. "I didn't think so."

Cassius ignored his cousin's bad attitude. "Isn't it dangerous to fly at this altitude? It's awfully cold up here, and we could get caught in a nasty-"

Cassius was interrupted by a blast of icy wind that not only confirmed his worst suspicions as well as destroyed what was left of Buck's already unstable whirlwind. "- _updraft!_ " Cassius finished in a desperate attempt to make himself heard above the roar of the troublesome wind. He struggled against the lightheaded popping he felt in his ears that seemed to be messing with his vision- or was he blacking out? In the crisp moonlight he could see Buck falling limply, surrounded by the mountaineering gear, and he wondered if it was the pressure that had gotten to him or if he had hit his head on something. Either way, the both of them were falling rapidly, with no djinn power to speak of in the biting cold, and only the jagged snowy mountain peak below them to break their fall... Why did Cassius' life involve so much falling all the time? Was it symbolic or something?

The last thing his conscious mind registered before he hit his head on a rock- or was it one of the pieces of mountaineering gear?- was a silhouette in a doorway framed by a warm yellow light, watching them fall.

Buck, for his part, was not quite as out of it as Cassius had assumed: that is to say, he was not fully unconscious. Buck was caught somewhere in between the realms of wakefulness and sleep, dazed and confused by the icy updraft. Tumbling head-over-heels through the chill mountain air and what was probably the beginnings of a blizzard didn't help any with reorienting himself, either, and as Buck began to slip further and further into shocked unconsciousness his ears began playing tricks on him. That was the only explanation he could come up with: if his ears weren't playing tricks on him, then why did he hear a distant voice that was oh-so-familiar?

"Not... Uttar... laddie..." The heavily accented voice said in between the roaring of the wind in Buck's ears. "...Tibet..." The voice faded in and out of the wind so much that Buck was reminded of how he had been in his ghostly state two months ago: interrupted constantly by static that seemed intent on erasing his past identity altogether. Now that he had his corporeal body back, the static was no longer a problem, but every now and again, he felt a buzzing behind his lips as he spoke, as though it was something inside himself that was attempting that erasure. Desperately, he tried to focus on the voice, though the turbulent wind, tried his best not to pass out from the rapidly changing pressure as he plummeted to the mountain peak and landed face-first in the snow. He always forgot how cold snow really was, up close and personal like this.

The last thing Buck remembered thinking before he passed out was wondering why, oh why, had he heard the distant voice of Mr. Rakshasas on the wind?

* * *

Cassius opened his eyes to darkness. Well, this was hardly new. Like falling through the air, being inundated in complete darkness had long since grown tiring for him. Not that he didn't

still fear what might be lurking in that darkness, however: it might be his mind, but he knew better than anyone that sometimes what you fear is lurking within yourself. Still, though, it had been a long time since he had dreamed like this, in the cave-like interior of his mind, that is, and he recalled Holly's advice on the matter of his deep-seated fear of his own mind: _If there are things in the dark, you punch them in the face and move on. Don't let them run your life for you._

It was easy enough for her to say, Cassius reflected, easy enough to say brave words as a spirit, and the spirit of this age's Prophet, at that. She wasn't ruled by fear. She had nothing to fear, with angels and God and everything Good on her side. He was deeply fond of Holly, to be sure, but Cassius noticed now, for the first time, that a void stretched between them, a void that Holly was unable to see. Still, though, perhaps her words held merit: after all, he was getting fed up with living his life in fear.

So thinking, Cassius squared his shoulders, gazed out into the darkness all around him, and called with as much bravado as he could fake, "Is anybody there?"

 _Please let no one be there,_ he thought desperately. _Please let me wake up soon._

He wasn't sure whether to be relieved or horrified when a familiar female voice replied- a voice that he had never expected to hear again in his life.

"Cas?" The voice of Nia Malone called back to him. "Sweetheart is that you?"

Cassius' heart catapulted itself up to his throat. "M-mom?" He asked, choking on his own breath and sudden tears. "Mom, where are you?"

"I'm right here, Cas, strike a match so I can find you, okay?" Nia Malone called back.

Cassius fumbled in his pockets. _A match, a match, this is my mind, isn't it? There should be a match in my pocket if-_ His fingers closed around a matchbook and he wasted no time in tugging it out and striking one of the matches on the little strip of sandpaper. He held it up in an effort to illuminate the dim cavern, and it flickered poorly in his fingers. It was, however, enough to see the silhouette of his late adoptive mother- _No,_ he thought, with a sudden surge of conviction, _she's my real mom, not Dimme. Blood ties don't make a family._

"Cas!" Nia cried when she finally spotted him, tears in her eyes, and she ran over and caught him up in her arms. He'd been taller than her before she'd died, but now he seemed to have grown taller still: he now stood a good seven inches above her.

"Mom, it's good to see you again! What are-? _Watch out!_ " Cassius watched in horror as the tiny flame of the match he was still holding leapt from his hand to his mother's hair, her clothes, her face... She melted like a wax statue before his eyes as he stepped back with terrified adrenaline pumping through his blood vessels, stumbled as he watched her face, the face that had smiled at him so many times, encouraging him and teaching him as he grew up, cave in on itself and finally exploded. Flecks of burned flesh, brains, and fragments of skull showered him, and Cassius couldn't help but scream.

" _What have you done?"_ Cried another voice that Cassius thought he'd never hear again: that of Dr. William Malone.

"Dad, stay back!" Cassius shouted, covered in roasting flesh and blood that was not his own, shaking so much that his knees could no longer support his own weight, and they buckled beneath him, sending Cassius crashing to the stone floor. Cassius looked with desperation to the place he'd heard his father's lament, and saw, with another tug of horrified disgust wrenching at his gut, that it was too late. By the fading light of Nia Malone's burning corpse, Cassius saw William Malone, wearing the white medical jacket he wore to work- though it was stained stark red, a stain that dripped and oozed and only grew, a stain that was centered around his heart, and the shimmering green dagger that had been plunged into it.

"Dad!" Cassius cried, his voice strangled and cracking, hot tears in his eyes and fresh blood on his hands. " _Dad!_ "

A cruel laugh came from beyond the dying circle of light, a cruel laugh that Cassius knew all too well. It grew with wicked mirth as Dr. William Malone, after one last confused and heartbroken look at Cassius, fell forwards and lay still in the growing pool of his own blood. A pair of eyes, reflective like those of a cat, glinted at him from the darkness, one red, one green. The vaguely formed silhouette that the eyes belonged to crossed his arms and smirked in a self-congratulatory way.

"My dear djinn son," It said, "You have a job to do."

"This isn't real!" Cassius howled at Beelzebub. "You're not my father, and I'll never do _anything_ for you!"

The demon blinked placidly at him. "Not even," He said with great deliberacy, "If it was your Prophet who I put on the line?" With a wave of his hand, Beelzebub held up a softly glowing photograph of Holly, looking out her window with a searching expression, as if she was waiting for someone. _Waiting for me to get back_ , Cassius realized with a jolt. He watched with wide eyes as black flames ate away at the edges of the photo until there was nothing left.

"Holly won't fall for your tricks." Cassius said bravely, though his voice shook terribly. "She's too smart for that. Plus she's got angels on her side."

"Perhaps." Beelzebub said, his mirth clear. "But perhaps it isn't she who need fall for my tricks. You have a purpose to serve, Alistair Teer, and you will serve it, whether you live or die, and whether your dear Prophet lives or dies. Remember that, dear son."


	34. Chapter 33: One Last Wish

_tw: suicide mention, implied self-harm, Edward Gaunt_

 **Chapter 33: One Last Wish**

"Do you want to go first, or shall we?" Philippa asked Holly, taking a sip of her steaming tea. Holly watched with almost palpable envy as she clutched a glass of chilly, sharp-tasting orange juice and a cold scone.

"Hm? Oh, you go first, you're the guests." Holly said quickly once she realized she'd been asked a question. "Sorry, it's just... this no hot food thing is really messing with my head. And it's been like four hours since it started."

"It's kind of a weird punishment, but I can see how effective it would be, particularly for a djinn." Philippa nodded. "But very well, I'll begin- unless you want to start, John?" She looked over at her brother, fumbling his own teacup with his clumsy bandaged hands.

"Sure," He said, and gratefully set the teacup down, wincing slightly with the movement. Then, looking directly at Holly, he explained himself quite simply. "I jumped off the roof."

Holly almost spat out her orange juice. "You did _what?!_ " She asked in a strangled shriek after her coughing fit subsided.

Philippa pursed her lips and glared at John. "You don't have to be so blunt, you know."

"Well it's true." John shot back with ire in his voice.

"But _why_?" Holly asked, her eyes wide with a mixture of indignation and sympathy.

John looked up at the ornate plasterwork on the parlour ceiling. "I thought- with the wind and everything... Just one more wish, right?" He mumbled distantly.

"Before you even ask, though, yes, we're seeing a shrink. A djinn psychiatrist back in New York who was an Eremite at the same time mother was. At first dad wanted us to go to a regular psychiatrist, but we talked him out of it after I explained a bit." Philippa added quickly.

Holly's disbelieving gaze settled on Philippa. "Don't tell me that _you-_ " She began, aghast, but Philippa quickly shook her head.

"No I never actually _tried_ it. But I did think about it all the time and I had considered it. Please don't tell Uncle Nimrod or anyone, we agreed that we don't want to worry them while we're here."

Holly sat back in her armchair heavily and set her glass of orange juice down on the end table with trembling fingers. "Can you tell me why, though?" She asked quietly. This situation was strange, foreign to her. The parlour felt like a minefield now, where any wrong move could result in an explosion. Death? She barely understood the concept, though her adoptive father (and, some years earlier, Mark's mother) were both now dead. With Sarah's return, however, a great uncertainty about Death had begun to take hold in Holly, and she had, since yesterday, subconsciously begun to revise her definition of the idea. Or perhaps she had already been uncertain: with ghosts walking the earth, immortal angels and demons haunting her dreams, viewing echoes of the past with Gabriel, and djinn having such terribly long lives, Death had already taken on an unreal identity for her. But to have it shoved in her face like this in such a terrible and twisted manner- her own cousins, her best friends in the world after Cas- thinking of suicide? Attempting the act? What could she say?

"Do you remember when we told you about all our djinn escapades?" Philippa asked gently, sensing Holly's worry and discomfort.

Cautiously, Holly nodded.

"And you remember how it all ended?" She pressed on.

Again, Holly nodded. "You gave up your powers to save the world, right?" Holly asked the twins in a hushed voice. "It was a really noble thing to do."

Philippa smiled gratefully while John did his best to remain stoic. "We were just doing what we had to." He said, his eyes becoming rather fixed as his attempt to dismiss the flattery failed.

"Well that doesn't make it any less noble." Holly insisted, silently worrying that she was walking right into one of the proverbial mines.

"Noble or not, that's not really the point of what Phil's trying to explain." John replied, finally looking down from the ceiling, moving his head slowly so as not to hurt himself. "We don't have our powers anymore."

Holly's brown eyes met John's and she was struck by the earnestness held in them. "Yes," she said slowly, not quite sure what John was trying to communicate.

"What John is _trying_ to say, Hol, is that nothing has been the same since two years ago when we lost our powers. It was fine for awhile, living normal lives, but after-" Philippa broke off abruptly, looking awkward.

Holly's brow furrowed. "After what?" She asked, looking from Philippa to John and back again.

"After last summer's escapade we both started realizing how much we missed our powers." John finished, looking haggard.

"You, maybe. I'd been dreaming I still had them since I met you, Holly. It was disorientating, to say the least. I'd wake up and say my focus word to do something and it never did. I'd forget that I didn't have powers anymore." Philippa took a sip of her tea and sighed.

"Hey, I forget too!" John protested, and held up his bandaged hands for evidence. "I almost burned my hands off last week!"

"That was because you put your hands in the fire." Philippa said, unusually snippy towards her brother.

"I was _cold_!" John protested hotly.

"We've _both_ gone _cold_!" Philippa shouted at him hysterically. "We've both gone cold and we can't do a thing about it- and we can't help anyone anymore, or turn into camels, or make picnics out of thin air, or visit Mr. Rakshasas' library, or make a whirlwind, or... or... or do _anything_ that djinn are supposed to be able to do! It's not _fair!_ " Philippa slammed her teacup down and stood, striding towards the window with tears in her eyes as John and Holly watched. She took her horn-rimmed glasses off and wiped her eyes with the palm of her hand, her back to them. "I didn't want it to end like that." She sniffled. "I didn't want it to end ever."

Cautiously, Holly stood and followed Philippa to the window where they both looked out at the pattering April rain.

They stood there, silently, until at long last, John broke the silence. "It wasn't suicide, you know. My jumping, I mean. At least, it wasn't my intention to die."

"Says the boy who jumped off the roof of a seven-story townhouse." Philippa interjected scathingly, though she seemed considerably more calm and had by now put her glasses back on.

"No, really." John insisted. "I was just..." He looked down at his bandaged hands and frowned. "Just trying to make a whirlwind again."

Philippa, her face pink and slightly swollen from crying, looked flabbergasted. "You never told me that." She said, sounding hurt.

"You never told me that you were thinking about suicide." John returned quietly. "So I guess that makes us even."

Philippa and Holly were both struck quite speechless by that comment, and it was quite a few moments before Philippa found it in herself to formulate a reply. "Well I never tried it, at least." She looked down at her hands, and for the first time since her arrival, Holly noticed that they sported little shiny burn marks, at first glance hardly noticeable, yet still there, and still, probably, quite painful. Holly's eyes were particularly drawn to a long burn mark, newer than the rest, that trailed past her palm and into the long sleeve of Philippa's shirt. Seeing Holly stare, Philippa tugged her sleeve down a bit more and fumbled around with her teacup. "I kept thinking about Buck, honestly. How he... killed himself..." Now Philippa looked haggard; Holly remembered again how quietly upset she had been last summer, even talking about Buck and his unfortunate fate. Which reminded Holly...

"Speaking of, he told me to tell you he's sorry."

Philippa looked up. "Pardon?"

"Buck." Holly nodded, though every sensible fiber of her being was screaming at her that this was not a good topic to bring up. She looked over at John. "Buck asked me to tell you two that he says he's sorry for all the stupid stuff he did."

John looked rather befuddled. Philippa looked as though she was about to cry again.

"He's _alive_?" She asked, her voice and hands shaking. "The real Buck- the good one?"

"What happened to him? Where is he now?" John asked urgently. Holly shrugged gloomily.

"The real and true Buck was alive when I saw him two months ago. As for where he is, I'll tell you what I told Faustina: I have next to no idea. He went off with Cas- er, Cassius, on a journey to try and find themselves."

"You met Faustina? When? How was she?" John asked, leaning as far forward in his wheelchair as his injuries would allow.

"Yesterday, and she seemed fine." Holly replied as Philippa sagged in her chair, looking quite as though an enormous weight had been lifted from her shoulders.

"He's alive," She repeated quietly.

"So what did you tell Faustina?" John asked, intensely curious.

"That they were headed for a spot ' _between a rock and a hard place,_ ' whatever that means."

Philippa frowned. "Why does that phrase sound so familiar?"

"Maybe because it's a pretty common phrase?" John pounced on the opportunity to be sarcastic, as his sister had done so many times to him.

"I know that. It's just... there's something that seems... familiar. It's triggering my déjà vu."

John frowned. "Déjà vu again? That hasn't happened since two years ago."

"Next you'll be telling me that clouds are made of water." Philippa replied mildly. "But whatever. Okay, Holly, you've heard our sob-story, now tell us why you went to China."

Holly frowned at the dismissal. "You shouldn't dismiss your own experiences so quickly, Phil." She said quietly.

Philippa looked down at her burned hands once again, and once again tugged her sleeves over her wrists.

"She's right, Phil." John spoke up. "Remember what Dr. Desjardins said? 'Don't forget that you're an important person, capable of an enormous amount beyond your powers.' Right?"

Philippa nodded, still looking at her hands. "Can you just tell us about China, Holly?" She mumbled.

"Sure," Holly agreed, but paused immediately and scratched her cheek awkwardly. "How do I put this... I sort of let Iblis Teer out of his jade coffin."

Philippa went very still, and John's dark eyes widened as he stared with disbelief at Holly. When he spoke, his words were careful and deliberate.

"Holly, I swear if you're kidding I'm going to get up from this wheelchair and leave. I'll walk right out that door."

Holly laughed nervously. "No jokes here. It's too far past April fool's. But I did have a good reason, at least."

Philippa, at last, looked up. "And what reason could possibly justify releasing a man who has tried to kill us- and Nimrod- on multiple unrelated occasions?"

"To protect the world from devastation?" Holly shrugged with an apologetic grimace.

* * *

It had taken Nimrod some considerable time to pluck up the resolve to call his older sister. After losing a staring contest with the receiver for a solid quarter-hour, he finally picked it up and dialed Layla's telephone number and waited as the phone rang, making him more and more anxious with each ring. Talking with Layla these days was always a risky endeavor, since she had long since rejected her djinn power as well as interaction with her fellow djinn, preferring instead to conduct her life in a state of blatant self-denial, which, as far as Nimrod was concerned, was a horrifying waste of her natural talents. However, this 'pretending with every iota of her being that djinn did not exist' proved a tricky quirk to work around, especially for Nimrod, who had integrated his own abilities into his daily life so completely that he had long since passed the point of being able to imagine a life without them. Layla seemed particularly touchy and quick to anger when it came to talking about their powers, though she had expressed remarkable patience over the Christmas holiday during their visit, likely due mostly to the presence of Holly and Castiel. She had only glared at him a handful of times over the holidays, which, given their previous estrangement, seemed an improvement.

Regardless of this, Nimrod still felt a stab of horror when the Gaunt telephone was picked up and the sleepy voice of Edward Gaunt answered.

"Gaunt household, who is this?"

"Edward- yes, hello, it's me, Nimrod. Calling you from England." Nimrod forcefully bit back a trill laugh and mentally smacked himself. He'd never been good at telephone conversations and had a tendency to talk more when he was nervous or anxious, as he was now. This was precisely the reason that he still preferred to write letters or postcards rather than telephoning people. There was something so incredibly jarring about having a conversation with someone he couldn't see.

Edward Gaunt, however, seemed not to notice. "Oh, Nimrod." He said jovially, sounding more alert. "How's it going? Did the twins make it there okay? How is John doing?"

"Fine. Everything's fine. John and Philippa both made it here in one piece. Is my sister there, by chance? I rather need to speak with her."

"Yeah, just a minute. I think she's downstairs."

Nimrod waited, listening as he heard the shuffling of Mr. Gaunt's movements as he walked to another room.

"Layla, honey," Mr. Gaunt called, "Could you pick up the phone? It's Nimrod."

Nimrod felt a wild panic and for a second he considered hanging up right then and there, but he hesitated, and in his hesitation, Layla picked up another phone.

"Hello, Nimrod." She said pleasantly. "Did John and Philippa arrive safely?"

Nimrod tried to speak, but nothing but a panicked squeak came out. He cleared his throat and hoped desperately that Layla wouldn't notice. "Yes, everyone's fine."

"Well tell Holly that I said 'Happy Birthday,' would you?"

"Ce-Certainly." Nimrod's palms were sweating, and he was so nervous that he very nearly fell from his seat when Alexandra opened the library door. She had not expected to see him there: that much was simple enough to read from her mildly surprised expression, but upon noticing the telephone receiver in his hand, Alexandra smiled and attempted to stifle her laughter. After a mutter of her focus word, which was IBEROMAURUSIAN, to light the fire, Alexandra sat down on one of the library's squashy upholstered settee and watched Nimrod panic with benign amusement. Nimrod shot her a rather disparaging look before clearing his throat again and continuing. "Speaking of Holly, you'll n-never guess what she did yesterday." There he went again with the stuttering. He never had these sorts of problems speaking with someone in person.

"Oh, was she very surprised? You know, we would have all gone over there, but Edward had work, and John had his... little incident last week." Layla seemed unfazed by Nimrod's stuttering, perhaps because she remembered he'd always been awkward with telephone calls. It was probably the second largest reason he hadn't gotten in contact with her while the twins were growing up, the first being her explicit decision to edit all djinn power out of her life, including him.

"She was." Nimrod said awkwardly. "Though th-that wasn't what I wanted to talk to you about."

Alexandra, watching Nimrod's side of the conversation, frowned as he pulled the red handkerchief from his pocket and dabbed the sweat from his forehead.

"What is it, then?" Layla asked, politely curious.

"It's ab-about Iblis." Nimrod tugged at his collar. Even over the telephone wires, Layla exerted a preternatural feeling of disapproval at the mention of the Ifrit.

"What about him?" She asked, her voice turning cold.

Nimrod flinched away from the telephone. This was exactly the reaction he had feared. "Well Holly s-sort of...um... r-released him."

Layla's fury was silent for a moment, and Nimrod held a brief flicker of hope that she might not shout at him. Those hopes were dashed like broken porcelain, however, with Layla's next words.

"She did _what?!_ "

"I didn't find out until it was too late," Nimrod explained in a small voice.

" _Nimrod Plantagenet Godwin what sort of parent are you?_ " Layla fairly roared into his ear. Nimrod flinched and held the receiver at arm's length, looking dolefully at Alexandra in a silent plea for help.

As Layla continued her rant, Alexandra rose with sweeping grace and sailed over to Nimrod's desk, where she plucked the telephone receiver from his hand. Alexandra listened patiently to Layla's shouting- " _You put my_ children _in danger time and again but I tolerated it because they were capable of defending themselves but you just let your daughter free a man who wants my entire family dead and you do_ nothing _?"-_ Until Layla paused for breath.

"Layla, kindly lower your voice. If you keep shouting like that you'll ruin it."

Layla, another string of lectures already on her tongue, caught her breath abruptly. " _Alexandra?_ " She asked in surprise. "What are you doing there?"

"Reconciling with my past and endeavoring to reestablish familial ties, Layla, something that you clearly still need to do."

Layla seemed to miss a beat. "Alexandra, this is on you, too. My children are in danger and-"

"And they'd be in much more danger had Holly not done anything. The entire world would be in much more danger. While it is certainly true that Nimrod and I are by no means good parents, what you forget to take into account is that Holly has a divine mission to carry out." Alexandra said with icy precision.

"Divine...?" Layla said, nonplussed. "What do you mean?"

"Hasn't anyone told you that your niece is this age's prophet?" Alexandra asked impatiently. "She works with angels, Layla. Are you going to argue with angels? I didn't think so. You're holding Nimrod responsible- granted, he probably could have contributed _something_ to try and fix this mess,- for the actions of a Prophet, working her best for the Good of Heaven and Earth- you remember making those kinds of executive decisions, Layla? Of course you do, every leader has had to make executive decisions that not everyone has agreed with."

"But _Iblis Teer_ , Alexandra. He wants my children _dead_." Layla reminded her with a hint of dire fear and desperation twinging her voice.

"Well then it's probably best that Philippa and John stay with us for the time being, where they'll have some measure of protection beyond the mundane. So just calm down and trust that we'll work this out, okay?"

Layla was silent for a long moment. At last, she sighed. "Very well. I suppose I'll have to tell Edward. And the school. And find a djinn psychiatrist in London that the twins can go to."

"Well, call us when you've found one." Alexandra nodded with great dignity. "Goodbye, Layla."

"Goodbye, Allie." Layla muttered fretfully, and the line went dead. Alexandra set the receiver on its hook and smiled a bit smugly at Nimrod. To her considerable surprise, he stood and put his arms around her.

"That was amazing, Alexandra," he mumbled, his voice still shaky with nerves. "Thank you."

Alexandra's expression relaxed into tenderness. "Well," she said, patting his hair, "you've always been a bundle of nerves around a telephone. Especially when it's your sister on the other end." She ran her fingers through Nimrod's dark hair and was saddened, but hardly surprised, to find strands of grey among the brown.


	35. Chapter 34: Psychosis

_tw: psychosis, murder/child murder, gore, blood, extensive burns, suicide talk_

 **Chapter 34: Psychosis**

Azazel awoke with a throbbing in his temple and a noose around his neck. He was lying on the floor, inches away from his broken _synopados_ and filled with a frustration that was borderline desperation.

 _It hadn't worked._

Here he was, alive and whole, with nothing to mark the suicide attempt but a severed rope and a little stiffness in his neck. Well, that and a suspicious stretch of blank time. Azazel grunted as he sat up and looked around. The phantom of the Marid prophet girl was nowhere to be seen, and briefly, Azazel wondered what had happened to her before reminding himself that her appearance had like as not been a figment of his imagination. It was not without precedent, after all. Phantoms had been appearing to him since February, after all.

"Aw, I missed it? Too bad." A childish voice interrupted his introspection with a petulant whine. "I'd have liked to see you die. It'd serve you right."

Azazel looked over at the small, skinny girl, her hands set on her narrow hips, and watched as her hazy outline rippled surreally. She was about ten years old, and her delicate, elfish features were just as Azazel remembered them- as were her carefully curled golden ringlets, her dark, flashing eyes, her school jumper, and the deep cuts that ran from her right palm to her throat, blossoming red and dripping onto the carpet with a sticky _plop, plop, plop_.

"I know, April." Azazel sighed, and tugged the noose from around his neck.

The child's thick brown eyebrows- _really, what kind of people dyed their daughter's hair at age ten?_ \- furrowed and she stuck her tongue out at him insolently. "I told you that you aren't allowed to call me 'April.' If you must address me, then call me 'Milton' like proper classmates should, Teer."

Azazel looked at her impassively, noticing for at least the fifth time how terribly _colourful_ she was and knowing, much to his dismay, that this meant that she could not be a ghost. Ghosts were generally blue. They were semi-transparent. They knew to steer clear of him. April Milton, unfortunately, was none of these things, despite being dead for nearly a decade.

"April Milton, you are a concoction of my ever-more precarious state of mind. Does it really matter what I call you?"

April glared at him. "Well there you go again, Teer, thinking you're the only person in the world that matters. You stupid jerk. If I'm something you made up, then why aren't I nicer to you? Huh?"

"I hate to break the news to you, but psychosis doesn't work like that, Milton." Azazel told the phantom, and rubbed his heavy-lidded eyes with the back of his hand and yawned. He was so tired all the time now, but he feared sleep too much to search for an escape there. After all, he always seemed to wake up more tired than when he'd gone to sleep, and his clothes always managed to get bloodstains on them somehow.

"Psychosis, schmycosis. You're just making excuses, Teer." April Milton took a couple steps towards him, her bloody right arm now dangling uselessly at her side, her trainers tapping softly on the carpet.

"Perhaps I am," Azazel admitted calmly. "Though psychosis is often characterized by hallucinations such as yourself."

"If you're so sick, then why did it start just now, huh? Why not... say... nine years ago when you murdered me?"

"Well that's simple enough," Azazel replied evenly. "Nine years ago I'd only killed you."

"Well aren't I special." April pouted irritably. "Don't you even remember what it was like? Don't you remember that day? Well, Teer? Don't you?" She shoved her tiny, bleeding palm into his face, showing him the knife marks glistening with scarlet blood, mere centimeters from his nose. Despite himself, Azazel couldn't stop his eyes from slipping from the girl's palm, down her arm, covered with similar vicious lacerations, and finally came to a rest on her neck, where blood bloomed scarlet, like a crimson choker.

"A switchblade was a rather brutal tool to kill a ten-year-old," he admitted, meeting the girl's gaze with heavy-lidded eyes. He'd just slept and yet he could feel his consciousness slowly ebbing away the more he struggled to stay awake.

"It was a brutal thing for a nine-year-old to carry around!" April Milton reminded him, smacking him with her outstretched bloody palm and crossing her arms with disdain. "What the heck is wrong with you, Teer?"

Azazel looked away and wiped the blood from his face with the back of his hand. "I.." he began, but his voice faltered when he remembered the sight of little April Milton, small for her age even then, screaming vainly for help when he'd pulled out his knife, remembered how enjoyable it had been to cut up her flesh with that knife as she struggled to run away, remembered how happy he'd been to hear her screams fade into tearful pleas for mercy, remembered how easy it had been to drag his knife across her throat, and remembered how proud he'd been, looking at her still corpse lying on the blacktop as the setting sun had given the grisly sight an eerie golden glow.

Azazel shivered. What kind of a monster was he, anyway? "...I'm sure I don't know, Milton."

April snorted. "You know. You just don't want to admit it to yourself. If only you were more like your little brother, then all this could have been avoided. I'd still be alive. I'd probably be very pretty by now, if you hadn't gone and murdered me." She tossed her blonde curls vainly.

"Yes... If only I was more like Cassius..." Azazel mumbled to himself. Truth be told, his brother rather confounded him. Good, in general, had always puzzled Azazel because why do something without a reward? What motivations did Good people have? They had always seemed so alien to Azazel, so... strange. But Cassius... He had always seemed so satisfied with his goody-two-shoes life, perfectly content to never see Azazel for the rest of his life, happy to give his all and receive nothing in return. It made no sense to Azazel. Though... if phantasms were to be believed, perhaps that was all part of the old Cas- Castiel, the djinn boy with angelic blood running through his veins.

So where did that leave Azazel? What was he, anyway? A djinn with demon blood? A demon with a djinn's body? Two souls, crushed into one small space and twisted beyond all recognition? He didn't know, and it bothered him deeply, as deeply as his broken _synopados_ , which still glinted blackly at him from the floor.

But most importantly of all, why didn't he feel happy that Beelzebub had escaped his prison? It was all he had been working towards. Everything he wanted. But instead of grim happiness, Azazel felt only emptiness and a pervasive fear lingering somewhere in the space between his ribs.

"You never think, do you?" April Milton asked, vindictive bitterness poisoning her youthful voice. "Moron. I bet you didn't even have a good reason to stab me."

"No, not really. But then, you always were annoying, Milton."

"Talking to yourself again, boss?"

Azazel gave a jolt of surprise and looked upwards to see Asher, as ever seated cross-legged on the ceiling, and as ever, scribbling in his small black notebook. "Asher. How long have you been up there?"

"Long enough, boss." Asher replied unhelpfully. Azazel scowled at him. Ever since his first blackout, when Asher had refused to explain anything to him, Azazel had mistrusted the demon. Not that he had trusted him terribly much to begin with: Asher was, after all, a demon. Demons didn't run around doing things out of the goodness of their hearts. They didn't have hearts.

Azazel glanced back over at where April Milton's phantasm had stood, dripping blood onto his carpet, and discovered that she was no longer there: she had vanished, along with her blood.

"Hmph." Azazel snorted, picking himself up and dusting his shirt off. "Asher, don't you have a job to do? I seem to recall sending you out for..." What was it again he had lied about needing?

"Don't worry, boss, I checked up on Lilith. She's having fun out in India at the moment. Plenty of mundanes to slaughter." Asher answered blithely, turning a page in his notebook.

"Oh, ah... Good, I suppose." Azazel mumbled awkwardly, trying his best to think up yet another excuse to send Asher away. "Is that all, then?"

Asher looked up (or _down_ , rather) from his scribbles and gazed at Azazel for a long, unsettling moment. It lasted so long that Azazel found himself hard-pressed not to fidget uncomfortably. Then, just as Azazel was about to say something else, Asher stood, stepped away from the ceiling, spun 180 degrees in midair and landed smartly with his feet on the floor, just in front of Azazel. Azazel instinctively stepped back and fought the urge to flinch when Asher put his little nib of pencil behind his ear and rested a hand on Azazel's shoulder.

"These blackouts, boss. They're perfectly normal. Don't worry about them." Asher nodded, patted Azazel's shoulder with his open palm, and turned to walk out of the room.

Azazel's internal bullshit alarm went off- blackouts, normal? A likely story indeed. And what did Asher know about them? The demon's silence on the matter was positively infuriating.

Azazel scowled at Asher's retreating back and kept glowering even after the door was shut. There was no way that these blackouts didn't mean something bad was happening to him, and Azazel was determined to find out what that something was, with or without Asher's help.

"You keep some terrible company, old boy." Yet another voice, this one comfortingly English, remarked. "I mean, blackouts? Normal? In what universe?"

Azazel looked over to the window, where, standing before the heavy drawn curtains, stood a man in a tidy-looking work suit and covered almost entirely with angry, blistering burns. About half of his face seemed to have been spared, and Azazel recognised the twinkling brown eye that gazed evenly back at him, though the last time he'd seen it, it had been distinctly more ghostly.

"You're that Godwin girl's adoptive father, aren't you?"

"The very same. Adam Coomes, and I wish I could say 'lovely to meet you,' but well, you're the one who went and had me killed." Adam Coomes nodded succinctly.

"Why are you here?" Azazel asked him, though he was certain he already knew the answer.

"I'm here as part of your psychosis, old boy. Can't have psychosis without some hallucinations, can we? I should know; I was a psychiatrist when I was still alive. Though you knew that already. You've done extensive research on my daughter, haven't you?"

"I saw her just a while ago, you know. The Godwin girl, I mean. She tried to talk me out of hanging myself."

"I take it she was unsuccessful?" The phantasm of Adam Coomes asked, eyeing the fresh bruises around Azazel's neck, partially hidden by the collar of his shirt.

"Yes. Though it seems not to have mattered: I'm still alive despite my best efforts."

"You shouldn't worry terribly much about ending it all. If you'll recall, Holly did mention something about having a way to 'get you out of the picture for good,' so there's still hope on that front."

Azazel frowned. "Why are you giving me advice? I had you burned alive."

Adam Coomes smiled, a broken, painful, blistered smile. "What sort of psychosis would it be without the torment of regret?"


	36. Chapter 35: C&B's Excellent Adventure

**Chapter 35: Cas and Buck's Excellent Adventure**

Cassius woke in a room filled with steam. He coughed, feeling his breath rattle in his chest, and sat up, swaying dizzily, his heart beating so quickly he felt it would pound its way right out of his chest cavity.

"Good, you're finally up. Is your head okay? You have kind of a lump." Cassius looked through the cloud of steam at his cousin, sitting before a steaming pile of rocks and stripped down to his underwear.

Wincing as he felt the egg-shaped bump on the back of his head, Cassius squinted around the sauna in the dim light afforded by the flickering wall sconces. "Where are we?" He asked, his heart rate finally slowing with the knowledge that he was awake, Beelzebub was gone, and he wasn't, in fact, covered with the blood of his parents.

"No idea," Buck said cheerfully, though it was clear that his lighthearted smile was forced. "I woke up in here just a little while ago. The steam was dying down, so I put some more water on the rocks here."

Still dizzy, Cassius shuffled his way over to his cousin and the source of the steam. Looking down at himself upon feeling a sudden chill at his back, Cassius discovered that he, too, was wearing only his boxer shorts. "Why are we in our underwear?" He asked, coughing slightly.

Buck shrugged. "Heck if I know. Probably so that our clothes won't get gross and damp while we're in here recovering from frostbite or whatever. Hey, your cold isn't coming back, is it? You're coughing again."

A knock came from the other side of the dimly illuminated wooden door. "Are those voices I hear? Are you both awake?" Called a muffled but distinctly American voice.

"No, we're talking to each other in our sleep." Buck rolled his eyes and snorted. "Yeah, we're awake. Who the heck are you?"

"The name's Joey." The American replied. "Your clothes are out here. When you're done, I'll be in the big room with the Buddha statue. It's through the door and down the hall at the very end. You can't miss it."

Cassius listened as Joey's footsteps faded away, then turned to Buck. "Shall we go, then?"

Buck stood slowly and stretched out his joints. Cassius grimaced at the sharp crackling of his cousin's bones. "Yeah, I guess." Buck frowned, as though he was trying to remember something. "It's just... Never mind." He shook his head, ridding himself of whatever troubling thought had taken hold of him.

Gingerly, Cassius stood as well, still a bit dizzy, still wheezing alarmingly from his cold. And what a shame, too, he'd thought perhaps he'd been getting better, at least before... before...

Cassius couldn't bring himself to finish the thought. The Rectory and Father Desai. Blood spurting, him, covered with the stuff, his hands sullied, his soul as well, desperation, water gaping below, welcome to the void Cassius, Lilith smirking, _you've taken a life you can't fix this as long as you live_ \- And that _dream_ , seeing his mother burn to death before his very eyes, seeing his father stabbed to death _just as Father Desai had been-_

"Cas! Are you okay?" Buck halfway shouted at him. Cassius blinked, his head spinning, fingers trembling, breath rattling.

"What? Fine. I'm fine." Cassius wheezed, setting a hand on the smooth stone wall for balance. "Let's go."

Buck spared him a worried look before unlatching the wooden sauna door. Chilly air rushed in as steam rushed out, making Cassius feel even shorter of breath and causing Buck to shiver uncomfortably. "Here we are," He said, spotting two piles of haphazardly folded clothing. Without pausing, he squatted down next to them and began sorting through the garments. "Here's your t-shirt, Golden Boy," he said, tossing it to him. It landed on Cassius' head, and he tugged on cheerlessly. Why did he have to have chosen to wear red yesterday morning? He joined Buck in sorting through the rest of the clothes, and after a brief mix-up in jeans, the two of them were once again fully clothed.

"Okay," Buck nodded, gathering up his coat and feeling revitalized from the steam. "Through the door and down the hall, right?"

Cassius nodded, feeling preoccupied. "That's what Joey said," He confirmed vaguely.

"C'mon then." Buck announced, and grabbed Cassius by the collar of his jacket to get him moving.

At the end of the hall was a large, mostly empty room that housed a rather massive statue of Buddha in a state of unfortunate disrepair. Cassius felt a cold lump of dread form in the pit of his stomach as he met the impassive tarnished green gaze of the statue as an abrupt realization came over him: This place was a monastery. _No, no, no, no, no_... He thought, his mind a mess of blank panic. He didn't want to hurt any more holy men, he couldn't hurt anyone else, he had to leave immediately-

"Where are you going?" Buck asked, somewhat irritated, and yanked on Cassius' jacket collar to get him to keep walking forwards. "He's right there, come on."

Cassius shook his head vehemently. "I can't... monastery..." He mumbled, knees knocking as he was dragged towards the man in the orange robe, reclining lazily before the Buddha statue. At the sound of their voices and footsteps, the man- a monk? Cassius wondered,- looked over at them and grinned an electric smile. The next moment, however, the elbow supporting his head slipped on the slick board floor and his skull cracked against it with an unpleasantly solid _thunk._

"Whoops," The orange-robed young man sat up and rubbed the fresh lump on the back of his head. "That smarts. Don't worry about me, though, I got a skull like iron." Jokingly, the young man rapped his knuckles against his temple and stood, dusting himself off and smiling again at Buck and Cassius.

"Anyway, it's good to see that you're both all right. You fell right out of the sky, you know, with all that mountaineering gear. But hey, I'm sorry, I didn't introduce myself properly. The name's Joey, Joey Ryder." Joey held out an open palm for them to shake.

A muscle in Buck's jaw twitched with recognition and he squinted at Joey cautiously. Cassius looked at Joey's extended hand with a horror akin to reading a death warrant.

"Buck," Buck grunted finally, omitting his last name and shaking Joey's hand. "This is my cousin Cas. Sorry if he acts a little weird; he's been through a lot lately."

Joey nodded understandingly, and his electric smile faded into a troubled frown. "Say, your voice sounds familiar. Have we met before?"

Buck's shoulders tensed. "I don't think so." He lied.

Joey pondered for a moment. "Hm. Maybe I'm thinking of someone else. Now that I think about it, I think that kid was Indian, so it couldn't have been you, huh?"

Buck avoided eye contact. "Nope. Couldn't possibly be me."

"I guess. Hey, either of you guys mind if I have a toke?" Joey pulled a rolled-up paper joint out of the sleeve of his robe. It smelled strongly, a scent that reminded Cassius in part of a very specific hallway of his high school, where the stoners always hung out.

"Is that... _marijuana_?" Cassius asked, his horror of illicit drugs momentarily superseding his horror of accidentally hurting this stranger.

Joey grinned. "Sure is. You mind?"

Buck shook his head. "Nah, man. Go ahead."

Joey Ryder stuck the blunt between his teeth, pulled out a silver lighter from his other orange sleeve, and lit it. Grey smoke billowed from the end of the blunt, and the strong odor grew tenfold in its intensity.

"What kind of a monk are you?" Cassius asked, still distracted by the presence of the joint.

Joey's eyebrows popped up with surprise. "Monk? Me? I-" He glanced down at his orange robe. "Oh, you mean this thing. Nah, I just found it in one of the rooms. My other clothes were getting kinda grungy, and these were okay. Just had a lot of dust on them, was all. But no, I'm no monk. Not in a million years." He laughed goodnaturedly and sat cross-legged on the floor, inviting the djinn to do the same with a wave of his hand.

"So... Where exactly _are_ we?" Buck asked, sinking to the floor cautiously while Cassius followed suit, staring intently at the smoking tip of Joey's blunt. Joey shrugged.

"I'm not really sure, to be honest. Somewhere between Uttar Pradesh and Tibet, I think. The Himalayas if you want to be a bit more specific. So how'd you guys end up falling out of the sky?"

"Updraft," Cassius answered without thinking, becoming more at ease with the knowledge that Joey was not a member of any sort of clergy. Buck glared at him.

"Updraft, huh? Yeah, I heard that whirlwinds can be tough to control for kid djinn like you two. Especially way up in the mountains like this."

Everything in Buck's mind came to a screeching halt and he stared, bug-eyed, at Joey. "You... _know_?" He choked out. Joey shrugged, letting his eyelids droop over his red-rimmed eyes.

"Sure. You didn't think I'd stick two regular kids in a sauna while they were unconscious, did you? I've met some djinn in my days, I know what's up. You guys need to be warm to function, don't you? I used to be a nurse, too, back in the States."

Buck felt a cold sweat forming on the nape of his neck. What was Joey playing at?

"So why'd you help us at all?" Cassius asked, as clearheadedly as he could manage.

Joey shrugged. "Why not? You needed it. Plus there's got to be a reason that you two are flying around the Himalayas. Call me crazy, but not a whole lot goes on around this empty monastery. I was bored."

"Why are _you_ here?" Buck burst out impetuously. "I mean... uh..." He backpedaled furiously "Is no one else up here?"

Joey looked around vaguely and shrugged. "If there are others, I haven't met them. I've been stuck up here for three weeks. Snowed in, as it happens."

A rumble came quite suddenly from underneath the three, and the old board floor began to shake beneath them. Buck glanced uneasily around, gaging how quickly he could make it to the nearest doorway, whereas Joey looked unconcerned as he continued to smoke his blunt.

Cassius, on the other hand, became suddenly aware of the cold lump of dread in the pit of his stomach again as his eyes were drawn, as if magnetically, towards the rattling Buddha statue, watching as the blue-green visage shook and seemed to open its eyes to gaze back at him with sour distaste...

"Don't worry about this, it happens all the time." Joey explained nonchalantly. "This place was built real good. Only one part collapsed so far, and it looked like one of the newer parts."

"How... Comforting." Buck replied dryly as Cassius continued to stare, enraptured, at the Buddha statue.

"Is he okay?" Joey asked, though to Cassius, his voice blended into the rumbling of the earth.

"I told you he isn't." Buck reminded Joey crossly, a bit annoyed that he had to repeat himself.

"All right, dude, no need to get huffy." Joey shrugged and exhaled a great puff of strong-smelling smoke. "It's just that earthquakes are highly cosmic moments that not everyone is ready to experience."

Buck, who had grown up in the midst of Los Angeles' frequent earthquakes, rolled his eyes and breathed a silent sigh of relief when the quaking beneath his feet finally stilled. He stood and stretched again. "Yo, where's the bathroom at?"

"Through that door, third door on the left. Careful, it's kind of old and the door sticks a lot." Joey nodded amicably, and took a long drag on his joint.

As Buck's padding footsteps faded down the hallway, Cassius blinked blankly at the huge copper Buddha.

"Hey, dude, can I offer some advice?"

Cassius blinked again and rubbed his eyes, trying to rid himself of the strange cobwebby feeling that was invading his thoughts. "Wait, are you talking to me?"

"Yeah man." Joey said patiently. "You seem like the world's weighing you down. Like- what's that old saying? Oh yeah, like you got a millstone around your neck while you're trying to swim. I've met a lot of folks like you, back when I was working at this Ashram that kinda turned out to be run by a snake cult- long story- but some of them were just kids like you."

Cassius ran his hand over the goosebumps that had formed on the nape of his neck. "I'm sixteen," he pointed out, his voice weak to his own ears. "I don't know if that can really count as being a kid anymore." Joey ignored him.

"But I mean the worst thing you can do is try and ignore whatever millstone you have around your neck, because it's only going to end up drowning you. You dig?" Joey took another drag from his blunt and followed Cassius' gaze to the Buddha statue. "What even is a millstone, anyway?" He pondered aloud.

"It's a circular stone used for grinding grain into flour," Cassius explained automatically. "They're really, really heavy."

"Huh. Guess you learn something new every day." Joey shrugged. "But you wanna know the real secret to true happiness?"

Cassius' voice halted in his throat. Happiness? What was that? He'd long since forgotten what it was like, to be so innocently happy-

"You gotta accept the past and get a move on. Like _The Lion King_ ; Hakuna Matata and everything."

The goosebumps spread from Cassius' neck down to his arms. How could he put the past behind him? How could he move on from taking another's life? It was an insurmountable evil, what he had done, and there seemed no logical way that he could ever forgive himself.

The very small part of his mind that wasn't entirely focused on wallowing in his own guilt raised its metaphorical hand politely, calling attention to a small aspect of what Joey had said.

 _The real secret to true happiness_. In a second, Cassius' gaze snapped from inwards to outwards, and he turned to give Joey his full attention.

"So are you truly happy then?" He asked. "You don't wish that anything was different about your life?"

Joey looked a little taken aback by the question. After a moment's reflection, he shrugged. "Nah, I like it here. I mean, it hasn't been perfect, but I doubt anybody's life has been perfect. To be honest I know I probably have had it way better than a lot of people. So... I guess I am pretty happy, yeah. Why do you ask?"

* * *

Buck forced the bathroom door made of swollen and warped wood shut and leaned against it.

"Okay," He muttered to the air, "I don't know what's going on, but I swear I'm hearing voices. Why am I hearing voices? I thought it was Cas going crazy, not me." He paused. "I'm talking to myself in the bathroom of some random monastery in the Himalayas. Am I dreaming? I better be dreaming." He tugged his arm from the sleeve of his jacket and pinched it, wincing.

"Okay, not dreaming." He frowned, and looked around, hoping against hope that Joey had been correct in his assertion that they were alone up here.

 _To be sure, you're not dreaming, laddie. You know that as well as I do._ The voice came, clear as a bell. Buck jammed his arm back into his sleeve and yanked at the bathroom door, which remained stubbornly in place.

"I don't have time for ghosts!" He yelled at the empty bath and wooden stalls. "Or hallucinations or whatever! Rakshasas is dead and I sent away his residual wish-thingy and he said he'd never be back-"

 _Really, how rude._ The voice that sounded very like Mr. Rakshasas tutted. _If you'd listen for one moment, young Dybbuk, I have some very important directions for you._

The door, at last, gave way, and Buck tumbled out into the hallway, landing flat on his face. He scrambled to his feet only to trip over his shoelaces and land on his elbows.

 _My dear, allow me: the young djinn still believes you to be dead._ A soft female voice entreated, and Buck's blood went cold when he felt a hand on his shoulder. Looking back, he saw no one there. On his feet again, Buck backed slowly away from the voices, taking care not to trip over his shoelaces again.

 _Please relax, young djinn. This will take but a moment._ The female voice whispered in his ear, and Buck felt a pair of delicate hands rest their fingertips on his temples.

His vision was wrenched away from the monastery hallway, to a craggy mountaintop. _You must fly into the face of the mountain here,_ the woman told him, _and you must not waver._ His vision zoomed outwards into a map- was that China? It moved and shifted, drifting south, and finally began to focus inwards onto another mountain- wait, this was the monastery.

 _Whirlwinds are far too dangerous, you must use another tool to reach your destination._ The woman explained. His vision moved down the halls and rested on an unassuming door that he'd passed by earlier. _A carpet uses its master's blood to bond with it. It will not let its master fall. We await your arrival with eagerness, young djinn._

The vision, or whatever it was, faded gently away, leaving Buck on his knees with his head filled with a strong floral scent that made him dizzy.

Feeling dreamlike, Buck stood, swaying a little, and walked with careful steps back down the hallway and stopped at the unassuming door he'd seen in the vision. The wood here was as warped and swollen and jammed shut as the bathroom door had been, but several yanks and painful splinters later, Buck had managed to open it. The room that lay before him appeared to be some sort of storage closet. Everything in it was covered with a thick layer of grime and dust that made Buck cough as he stirred it up. He walked into the dark closet, past vaguely glinting statuettes, dusty, half-burned candles, reliquaries with faded paint, and brooms that looked as though they hadn't been used in over a century, focused in on one large cylindrical shape standing on its end before him.

He reached out and tugged on the top end of the cylinder and it crashed on top of him in a great heavy mess, unrolling to reveal what it truly was: a large blue carpet- probably about ten feet by six feet, Buck estimated,- that glittered softly in the light from the hallway. Grunting under its weight and struggling to extract himself, Buck pulled himself to his feet and, covered with grime and dust, he grinned.

"All right," he said aloud, "now we're getting somewhere."

* * *

 ** _Author's Notes:_** _Okay, the fact that Cassius is so *shocked* and *scandalized* at discovering some random stoner in the Himalayas when he went to public high school in New York City and most certainly had classmates who were stoners is a source of some mystification for me but it's totally legit. And seeing as how Joey used to be a nurse in the states, I'm sure he's familiar with the benefits of medical marijuana and could talk for awhile about them. Also I don't think I'll be able to update at all in September since I'm going away to Uni and that's going to be really hectic, so next week's chapter will be the last one for awhile._

 _~Lucinda_


	37. Chapter 36: Hodgepodge Soup

**Chapter 36: Hodgepodge Soup**

Holly shut her bedroom door behind her and sagged against it, sighing. Why had it suddenly become so difficult to speak to two of her best friends in the world?

"Rough day, huh?"

Holly yelped and her feet slid from underneath her. She landed on her butt and glared at Rudyard Teer, who was sitting on _her_ armchair with his feet on _her_ coffee table, reading one of _her_ books that had been a birthday present for _her._ Holly was livid.

" _Rudy!_ " She hissed, standing up and fumbling with the lock on her door. "What the cherry tomatoes are you doing in my room? Get back in the lamp _right now_ before somebody sees you!"

"Nah," Rudyard shrugged, and turned a page unconcernedly.

"I'm sorry, Holly," Casca piped up miserably from the other armchair, sitting ramrod straight with his hands folded on his knees. "But he was very insistent. He even said 'please.' Twice."

Holly shot her angelic friend a somewhat disparaging look. "Cas, didn't you hear what Iblis said? He expects me to keep Rudy out of trouble, and it's a lot easier to do that when he's in the lamp and not gallivanting around Nimrod's house like he owns the place!"

Rudyard looked up with some interest. "Oh, so this is Nimrod's place, then? Great, I owe that big-nosed loser a spell in a coffin-"

"You'll do no such thing!" Holly told the Ifrit sharply. "And might I remind you, Sarah's right downstairs and I can get her if need be to reel your terrible behaviour in."

"This is the thanks I get for asking after you," Rudyard grumbled, returning to the book and opening it wider. Holly grimaced as she heard the spine of the book snap in two.

"That was a birthday present!" She protested irritably, snatching the book from his hands and gently stroking the broken spine.

"Hey, I was reading that!" Rudyard snapped back, making a grab for the book. "It was just getting good! Theodosia and her little brother were figuring out what was cursing their dad's museum!"*

"Hey, shut up, no spoilers! Why are you out here, anyway?" Holly asked, evading Rudyard's reach and resting the book on top of her bookshelf as she hurried to tidy up the rest of her room.

Rudyard sat back down in the armchair, his expression suddenly serious. "Angel boy here told me that Jirjis took over the Ifrit after dad and I went bust. Is that true?"

"How should I know what goes on in your tribe? I've been _kind of_ busy trying to deal with Azzy and his demons since I got my powers."

"I told you, it's true." Casca told Rudyard earnestly. "Azazel told me himself a few days after we met last June. He was really cheesed off about it."

"So he really hasn't done anything yet?"

"Azazel is a very distracting person." Holly said sternly, shoving a pile of clothing into a dresser drawer.

"So he hasn't like... killed anyone yet?" Rudyard asked apprehensively.

"Not as far as we know," Holly said briskly. "Get back in the lamp already. What does Jirjis look like, anyway?"

"Well he's quite lanky, with dark hair-" Casca began.

"And a dumb-looking Snidely Whiplash moustache," Rudyard interrupted.

"His skin's about as swarthy as either of ours," Casca continued, indicating himself and Rudyard.

"And he talks with this real slow draaawl, y'all," Rudyard mimicked a Southern accent perfectly, and immediately grimaced.

"Last I knew, he was attempting to look for Beelzebub's prison under the plenum dune," Casca offered helpfully.

Holly frowned. Something about that description seemed strangely familiar. "He doesn't have a ghost girlfriend or something, does he?"

"He murdered his mundane wife in the seventies." Rudyard piped up.

Casca frowned. "What was her name?"

"Kate, I think. Nobody really talks about it much, and Dad's still sore about it. It landed him in a lot of trouble back then with that old hag Ayesha. You know, the Blue Djinn."

Casca's frown deepened. "I don't recall sending anyone by that name back to Purgatory in February."

Rudyard snorted. "A person like Kate Ibn Rajmus? From the stuff I heard about her, she probably went straight to Hell."

"What's up, Hol?" Casca asked, still a bit perturbed by his discovery.

"I feel like... maybe I had a vi-"

Holly was interrupted by the rattle of her doorknob followed by a sharp but polite rap at her door. "Holly? Can I come in?" Philippa's voice asked from the other side of the door.

Holly's eyes grew wide and her gaze blank. She looked from Casca, to Rudyard, and then jerked her head pointedly at the silver lamp resting on her bedside table.

"Of course, Phil, just give me a sec so I can clean up a bit." She said with forced lightheartedness as she glared daggers at Rudyard, who was purposefully ignoring her and had put his feet back on the coffee table. Holly looked over at Casca in silent appeal, and he let out a breathy sigh and stood.

He clapped his hands together once, a single, sharp note that lingered in the air, like the black smoke that he'd transformed Rudyard into before it, and the small white light that was Casca, swirled into the silver lamp gracefully.

Once the last wisp of Rudyard's smoke had vanished, Holly let out another breath and hurried to open the door for her cousin.

"Hi," She said, stepping to one side so that Philippa could come in, "What's up?"

Philippa sighed listlessly and plunked herself down on the armchair that Rudyard Teer had been occupying. "Nimrod just told us that we'll be staying here for awhile, on account of the whole Iblis thing."

"Oh," Holly said cautiously, unsure of how to react- this was all her fault, after all.

"It'll be just like old times," Philippa smiled, though her smile held no mirth. "Going on mad adventures everywhere, riding whirlwinds and flying carpets..." She curled her hands around her elbows and hunched forwards in her seat. "I thought I could just leave it all behind me, like mother did, but no one told me that it would be so... cold." Philippa stared longingly at the hearth, the dying flames reflected in her glasses.

Gingerly, Holly sank into the other armchair, feeling the void of their experiences stretch between herself and her cousin. Holly kept forgetting she even had djinn power, but Philippa was unable to stop remembering her lost powers. "Is that why you have all those burns on your arms?" Holly asked before she could stop herself. She immediately winced. "Sorry, it's okay if you don't want to talk about it, I just..." Just what? Holly wondered. "You're my friend, and you can talk to me." She finished lamely.

Philippa was quiet for a moment that seemed like an eternity, staring at the fire. At long last, however, she straightened up and rolled up the sleeves of her shirt with slightly trembling fingers.

Her forearms were lined with dark burns and blistering skin that, despite their ugliness and scabs, curled elegantly in a surprisingly intricate design almost reminiscent of Alexandra's henna tattoos.

"I..." she finally spoke, though her voice caught in her throat, shaking with fear and shame. She coughed, and then sniffed loudly, trying to get herself to stop shaking, to stop the tears that had begun flowing involuntarily from her green-grey eyes. "I used the tip of a fire poker." She mumbled. "I didn't..." She began hiccoughing, and tugged her glasses off to wipe away the tears. "I never used to get burns like- _hic-_ this, you know. I think it's- _hic_ \- basically impossible for a- _hic-_ djinn to be burned by regular fi- _hic-_ re."

"You _what?!_ " Cried a voice from the silver lamp before Holly had a chance to reply. Philippa froze with shock, while Holly felt a vein begin to twitch irritably in her forehead even as black smoke began to swirl, once again, out of the lamp. Once he re-formed into his darkly freckled self, he pointed an accusatory finger at Philippa. "You can't have gone _cold_!" He shouted, seething. "What's the point of revenge against a cold djinn?"

"Rudy I already told you and your dad that no one's exacting revenge against my family, especially not when I already have my own reasons to seek revenge on the both of you." Holly snapped irritably.

Philippa stood on shaking legs and looked from Holly, to Rudyard, and back to Holly. "Holly, that's Rudyard Teer. Why is Rudyard Teer here?" She asked incredulously.

"How else was I supposed to make sure Iblis behaved himself?" Holly asked her cousin with a shrug. "Rudy's collateral. _Annoying_ collateral who doesn't seem to understand the concept of _stay in the lamp_ , but collateral anyways."

"Well you don't have a lid on it," Philippa said weakly, sitting back down in the armchair and shaking her head. "But why ever did you bring him here?"

"So I could keep an eye on him." Holly replied, glaring daggers at Rudyard. "Go back in the lamp, Rudy."

"This ruins _everything_!" Rudyard lamented, ignoring Holly and running a hand through his still slightly damp red hair. "Don't tell me that your dumb brother went cold, too!"

Philippa looked down at her wrists. "Actually..."

"Rudy Teer get back in that lamp _right now_ or so help me I might even say a swear!" Holly seethed, and, standing and seizing the Ifrit by his ear, she marched Rudyard over to her bedside table where the lamp rested. "You want Nimrod to find you? Huh? How about the Blue Djinn, Faustina? I hear she isn't too fond of you Teers thanks to what your dad did. And since you were directly involved with the harebrained scheme that made her little brother go AWOL, I'd bet she isn't too fond of _you_ , either. Or maybe I should just run downstairs and tell Sarah you're misbehaving-"

"All right, all right!" Rudyard snapped irritably, swatting Holly's hand away from his ear. "I'll stay in the lamp already, _Jesus_." He paused a moment before transubstantiating to glare venomously at Philippa. "This isn't over, carrot-top."

"It's a lot less effective throwing those kinds of insults around when you yourself also have red hair," Philippa pointed out logically, watching with faint shock as Rudyard transformed back into black smoke with a huff and vanished into the lamp.

Holly grimaced at the lamp and turned apologetically to Philippa as she began searching for something with which to plug the lamp up. She settled on folding up an elastic headband and stuffed it into the small hole where the wick should have been. "Sorry about that, Phil." Holly apologized as she sat back down in the armchair. "But could you keep that a secret? Iblis sort of issued me a death threat if Nimrod found out, and... well, I'm not supposed to have boys in my room at all, let alone _stupid obnoxious Ifrit boys_." These last words she addressed to the lamp itself, clearly a jibe at Rudyard.

"Amateur," He snorted, his voice muffled by the lamp and the headband plugging it up.

"Of course," Philippa nodded, trying to keep her voice from betraying how excited she felt. Danger? Death threats? Ifrit causing trouble again? This was familiar territory; she could help with this. It was an adventure in the making, she could feel it. "Though, it's a bit odd. He seems to be swearing a lot less than when I first met him."

A muffled protest came from inside the lamp, and Holly rapped on the side sternly, then smiled in a self-congratulatory manner. "He's under a binding. An angelic binding that makes him go against his nature and act like a decent human being."

Philippa smiled at the irony of this. "So what's your next move?" she asked eagerly, tugging her sleeves back down to cover her burns.

Holly shrugged. "I dunno. Wait for Iblis to get back here with doll-ified Azazel, I guess. Which could either be really easy or impossible, depending on whether or not..." Holly trailed off, shuddering at the memory of Azazel's eyes going black when he should have died. "Well, whether or not old Azzy's in a fighting kind of mood, I guess." She finished, more an afterthought than anything.

A branch, budding with fresh green leaves, made somehow greener in the rain, rapped loudly against the window by her side table. Holly frowned, sensing that something was odd about this, though not quite able to put her finger on why. Sticking her pipe between her teeth for moral support, Holly headed cautiously over to the window and peered out into the driving rain and seeing nothing unusual, frowned.

"What is it?" Philippa asked, observing Holly's actions from the comfort of her armchair.

Holly shook her head. "Nothing. I just got this weird feeling all of a sudden. Like I was being watched or something."

* * *

"Mark, sit down already. I'm making you some soup and that's final." Sarah chided her 23 year old stepson sensibly.

"So are you going to tell me why you disappeared or not?" Mark asked her, grunting softly as he sat at the kitchen table. He still felt all stiff from the plane.

Sarah, who was already looking through Nimrod's refrigerator for ingredients, paused. "It's... a bit difficult to explain, but I'll try." She fell silent for a moment, gathering various vegetables into the crook of her arm pensively, trying to gather her thoughts. "My primary purpose in serving the role of your and Holly's stepmother was to protect Holly. To watch over the Prophet of this age before she was ready for her powers. I was there on orders." She shut the refrigerator and laid her armful of vegetables down on the counter.

Mark frowned, watching as Sarah took a stockpot from the cupboard and took it to the sink to fill with water. "So it was all a lie?" He asked.

Sarah bowed her head over the stockpot. "No," She admitted quietly. "I never planned on being your stepmother, Mark. I was going to be your neighbour but then... Then I met your father."

Despite his misgivings, Mark smiled. "Yeah, when you dragged me home after busting that party. Dad didn't stop talking about you for weeks. I think Holly and I nicknamed you 'That redhead cop lady.' It was pretty painful to listen to."

Sarah smiled forlornly as she hauled the sloshing stockpot onto the stove and switched it on. "Really? I left that much of an impression on him?" She searched through her pockets and pulled out a familiar smooth river stone.

"Are you making hodgepodge soup?" Mark asked excitedly, recognizing the stone.

Sarah's smile grew warmer. "Of course. You're ill, aren't you? Now, where do you keep the potatoes?"

"I'll peel them, I can do that much." Mark insisted, and opened a cupboard beneath one of the counters and dragged out a burlap sack of potatoes, which he proceeded to drag towards the sink. "But go on with your story."

Sarah turned the gas on to the stove and turned back to the vegetables she'd gathered. "Well, at any rate, I met your father and everything changed, and I like to believe that you and Holly were the better for it."

"Yeah, okay, so that's why you were around in the first place, I get it. But if you were supposed to protect Holly then why'd you let us believe you'd been killed?" Mark asked, tugging his pocket knife from his jeans pocket and deftly peeling the potatoes.

"I was told that I was no longer needed." Sarah explained softly, pulling the large vegetable knife from the knife block and starting to dice the vegetables. "My superiors called me away in the middle of the inferno, or else..." She chopped an onion in half and a tear dripped down her cheek. "By the time I was able to return, the house was gone."

"Can't you angels use time travel or something? Doesn't time work differently for you guys, though?" Mark frowned. "Can't you resurrect people?"

"Only in special cases." Sarah said, her shoulders drooping. "I asked for permission to resurrect your father and Bob, but... I was denied."

"Oh," was all Mark could say, his hands pausing in their task despite himself.

"Yes," Sarah nodded. "And I was ordered to stay in Heaven for the time being, as my work was no longer necessary."

"So the body of yours that they found?" Mark asked, trying desperately to keep his composure.

"A false visage, nothing more. Something to help me disguise myself."

"Did dad know?"

"Did he know what I am? Yes. I told him before we were married. It was only fair."

"And he didn't think you were a nutcase. Huh." Mark turned his attention back to the potatoes briefly before another thought struck him. "Wait, if you're an angel, then what about Uncle Bob? Wasn't he your brother?"

"Robert Maidan was a good man as well," Sarah explained regretfully. "And he did not deserve to die either, but we bore no relation to each other: he was merely a man, like your father and you. A spiritual brother, if you will."

"Maidan..." Mark muttered. "Where have I heard that name before?"

Sarah shrugged, and wiped her teary eyes with the back of her wrist.

"So you're telling me that angels have a zillion restrictions on them even if they're trying to do the right thing?" Mark asked, setting another peeled potato on Sarah's cutting board.

Sarah sighed. "Well, yes. But I was also under careful observation, you know. Because I had fallen in love with your father. Angels aren't supposed to do that. Fall in love, I mean."

Mark looked away, suddenly feeling awkward, thinking of his own romantic track record. "Well you can't help it, can you? It's not like you can choose who you fall in love with." His face darkened. "Or out of love with."

Sarah tipped the diced vegetables into the soup stock in a swift, practised movement. "I know," she sighed. "Where are your spices?"

"Here, just one second," Mark hurried to the spice rack resting on the opposite counter, secretly glad that the awkward atmosphere had dissipated. He wasn't sure he was ready to talk about it yet, anyway.

The kitchen door swung open and John wheeled his way cautiously in, awkward because of his one useable arm. "I know I just ate like, twelve minutes ago, but something smells really good."

Sarah beamed. "Why, thank you, John. It's my special hodgepodge soup."

* * *

 _ **Author's Notes:**_ _Okay, so like I said last week, this chapter will probably be the last one for awhile because my life is going to get really hectic in September, plus I'm just about on the verge of running out of complete chapters anyway so I need to write more in addition. As for the asterisk above, the plot point that Rudyard describes is from a book I'm very fond of, "_ Theodosia and the Serpents of Chaos" _by R.L. LaFevers_ _It has lots of that ancient Egyptian occult stuff I like so much and miss from_ "The Akhenaten Adventure" _but is also set in like the 1890's in London which is a setting I really like, (and bonus is the creepy museum full of curses), and it's the first story in a series that I think has yet to be completed. I highly recommend it if you can find a copy._

 _Anyway... See you in a month_

 _~Lucinda_


	38. Chapter 37: Great Stone Gates

**Chapter 37: Great Stone Gates**

Buck ran back towards the room where he'd left Cassius and Joey at full speed. Well, at as full a speed he could run while dragging the massive rolled-up carpet along behind him.

Cassius, meanwhile, was sprinting at full pelt to the bathrooms, impatient to share his discovery with his cousin.

It was just both of their luck when, rounding a corner, Buck and Cassius ran smack into each other and cracked skulls.

"Ow," Buck complained, rubbing his forehead and wincing as he felt a bruise beginning to form. "Watch where you're going, Golden Boy,"

"I'm sorry!" Cassius fairly yelped, ignoring his own throbbing forehead and getting to his feet in order to help his cousin up. "Are you okay? I'm sorry, it's my fault-"

"Aw, shut it." Buck waved him away, grinning, in too good a mood to wait through Cassius' typhoon of apologies. "Look what I found." He dragged the carpet around and unrolled it.

"Is that a flying carpet?" Cassius asked incredulously. "What's one of those doing up here?"

Buck shrugged. "Heck if I know. Now all we need is to find some dumb idiot who's truly happy with their life and we'll be set!"

"About that," Cassius fiddled with his fingers awkwardly. "I think Joey is our guy."

A muscle twitched in Buck's jaw. "Naw, I'm sure he can't be happy cooped up here in this old monastery all on his own."

"But I asked him, and he said-"

"So he lied," Buck shrugged. "Believe it or not, people lie all the time, Golden Boy."

"Why are you being so close-minded about this?" Cassius asked irritably. "I thought you'd be happy, wasn't finding this contented person the thing we were most worried about?"

"Yeah, I am worried about it. Still. Because there's no way that he's the guy we need."

"I offered him three wishes for rescuing us and he said he didn't need them!" Cassius retorted, his voice rising hotly.

"He doesn't need yours because he still hasn't cashed in on mine from all those years ago!" Buck replied in a glowering roar.

"You... know him?" Cassius asked, taken aback.

Buck winced. "A little. When I was thirteen. He was part of this cobra cult that was trying to kill me. John, Philippa, and me got captured by them and their crazy leader stole our blood because he was trying to become a djinn. Joey... He helped us escape in exchange for three wishes, but none of us ever saw him again after the ashram burned down."

"Well then," Cassius said after a short, fuming silence, "Go and offer to give him his three wishes, and we'll see who's right."

"You can't be serious. Did the words 'cobra cult' just go over your head, Golden Boy?"

"No, and neither did the words 'he helped us escape.' You owe him. And don't call me 'Golden Boy' anymore."

"Why not? Afraid it doesn't apply anymore now that you killed a guy?" Buck snarled, but immediately caught his breath. "I'm sorry, man. That was too far."

Cassius' shoulders drooped, all the fight suddenly gone, his eyes downcast. "You're right, though." He mumbled. "It doesn't apply, does it?"

"Look, man, I shouldn't have said that. I'll do the thing, don't worry. I guess it's just... I've been running from my past, even the decent parts of it, and running into Joey Ryder again after all these years doesn't seem like a coincidence."

"Nimrod likes to say that there are no coincidences," Cassius shared, still mumbling. "But come on, the faster we get out of this place, the better. I don't like it here."

"Me neither," Buck agreed. "Help me roll this up?" He asked, grabbing a corner of the carpet. Cassius nodded and the two rolled up the carpet in silent cooperation.

Carrying it down the hallway, each djinn supporting opposite ends of the carpet so that it was easy to carry though it drooped in the middle, not a word was exchanged between the cousins.

They returned to the large, open room to find Joey lying on his back and smoking contentedly, moving his finger through the smoke and watching it swirl with fascination. "You guys ever just watch the air?" He asked, upon noticing the djinn boys' return. "It's just like those old ink wash paintings."

"Joey, Buck has something he wants to tell you." Cassius spoke up. Buck had to forcibly stop himself from grimacing at his cousin, and had to exercise even more control to not think that he rather preferred the distant and horrified Cassius to this snappish one.

"Who is that again?" Joey asked, looking up at them with red-rimmed eyes

"Me, you pothead!" Buck scowled. "I owe you some wishes."

"Nah, man, it's cool. I wasn't expecting to get anything by dragging you guys in here-"

"Not for that!" Buck snapped. "For three years ago, at the Ashram. You helped me and my friends get out of a tight spot when that crazy guru had us trapped. I was banking on you not recognizing me, because I was Indian when we met, but I'm Dybbuk Sachertorte."

Joey propped himself up on his elbows and squinted at Buck. "Heey, I thought I'd seen you somewhere. So you were at the Ashram, too? Crazy. Small world, huh?"

Buck frowned. "Yeah, too small." He agreed. "But I still owe you three wishes."

"Nah, it's cool. I don't think I ended up helping you all that much anyway. But what happened to your friends? They make it out okay, too?"

Buck frowned. "You're really not going to take the three wishes?"

"Why would I?" Joey shrugged. "I got it pretty good. Living abroad, getting out of that snake cult with sanity intact... I mean, mostly. But like... It's super beautiful up here when the sky is all clear and you can see the mountains around you. It's great."

"There, you see?" Cassius said to his cousin triumphantly. "I told you, didn't I?"

Buck rolled his eyes and made a noise like a bassoon. "Yeah, okay, you did. Hey, Joey, if you're not taking the wishes, you want to come with us to a different mountain? It's kinda important."

Joey pushed himself to his bare feet. "Sure, let's jet. What's the carpet for?"

* * *

As the first rays of dawn inched over the peaks of the Himalayas, Cassius sulked. At long last, his sinuses had cleared and he could breathe in the frigid mountain air as they rushed past it on the shimmering blue carpet, with Buck piloting and concentrating so hard that he'd begun to sweat uncomfortably with the effort. Joey, meanwhile, was looking up at the clouds and munching his way happily through a box of granola bars.

Cassius felt strange, sulking like this. The shock of his grievous sin hadn't worn off, but it had become dull, an aching reminder that seemed to originate in his very _neshahmah_. With the dulling of the memory had come a variety of confusing emotions: anger, revulsion, frustration... He felt sick to his stomach with it all, and underlying all of this was an unshakable sensation of anxiety. What was he doing? He wondered. He should be in an Indian prison right now, going through the court system, not running away into the mountains, chasing after something completely unknown to him, something as insubstantial as the center of the universe.

"What's eating you?" Joey asked between bites. "You want one? Take it quick, I got the munchies real bad." He held out the box of granola bars, which was now more full of wrappers than actual granola bars.

Carefully, Cassius took a granola bar and unwrapped it slowly. "Thanks," He said quietly, and took a small bite. Though his sinuses were now clear, his throat still itched, and he began to cough dryly. "But I don't want to talk about it."

Was he doing the right thing by withdrawing like this? Cassius wondered as Joey shrugged and turned his attention back to the remaining granola bars. He was disturbed by the possibility of what might happen if he _didn't_ withdraw, after all, he'd snapped at Buck. And even before this whole messy business took place, he'd said such unkind and petty things to Dimme... not that he thought she deserved forgiveness, but what about kindness? Didn't everyone deserve kindness?

Cassius didn't understand why he now felt so angry without a proper object of his anger. He felt- almost literally- hot under the collar for no adequate reason, and it distressed him. It was as though his fear- that fear of Beelzebub, the fear of the Dark, fear of small spaces, fear of death, even fear of fire, now, after that reminder of what had happened to the Malones... and could he even call himself Malone anymore? He'd never been related to them, but they'd been his parents... Parents that had been murdered in cold blood because of his mere existence.

A sudden wave of queasiness overcame him with the memory of the dream he'd had, and Cassius scrambled towards the edge of the carpet and leaned over to empty his stomach of the few bites of granola he'd had: the only food he'd eaten since the _vasuki_ yesterday.

"Not so close to the edge, Cas," Buck yelled, raising his voice to be heard above the whistling wind. "You might fall off. Besides, we're almost there!"

The carpet, under Buck's command, dipped fluidly, knocking all of its passengers closer to the center as Buck aimed it carefully at a craggy mountain face.

Cassius, his breath acrid and foul because of the vomit, wiped his mouth with the back of his hand and stared, with furrowed brow, at the apparently featureless rock face before them. "Why are we flying so fast towards that mountain?" He asked, but his voice was lost as Buck accelerated.

"Hang on tight!" He shouted.

"To what?!" Cassius demanded, his voice cracking with fear, clinging to his knapsack even as Joey flung his arms obediently around the large bag of mountaineering supplies and gear.

"Here we go!" Buck yelled, and the carpet hurtled straight into the craggy mountain face, colliding head-on and leaving the three as little more than red splotches on the side of it.

Or, at least, that was what Cassius had expected to happen. He was even preparing himself mentally for that to happen as he squeezed his eyes shut at the last minute to say a prayer- when was the last time he had prayed? Everything was a panicked jumble in his mind, everything save for the first few hurried lines of the Lord's prayer...

But wasn't smashing into the side of the mountain taking an awfully long time?

Cautiously, Cassius opened one eye, and then the other, and looked around them. They were still moving at breakneck speed, but rather than approaching the side of the mountain, they were in a large cave, flying so close to the craggy ceiling that Cassius was nervous he might crack his head on one of the stalactites. Buck was grinning like a madman and gave a triumphant whoop that echoed eerily in the cavern.

"Wh-Where are we?" Cassius asked shakily, attempting to slacken his white-knuckled grip on the strap of his knapsack unsuccessfully.

"No idea," Buck grinned, "But we're almost there!"

"How did you know this was here? I thought... I thought we were going to crash into the mountain!"

"No idea!" Buck repeated cheerfully as they neared the morning light at the end of the rocky tunnel.

"What do you mean, ' _no idea_ '?!" Cassius demanded, his voice cracking from stress. "How could you have no idea that this was here and yet fly us into what was apparently a regular old completely solid side of a mountain?!"

Buck paused a moment, considering how best to answer this well-justified question. "I had a gut feeling," He lied, deciding it was best if he kept those disembodied voices and strange visions to himself.

"Hey man, just ride the wave. You gotta relax." Joey chimed in, speaking to Cassius, who looked at the mundane with skepticism.

"I'll relax when I'm dead. And when my father is no longer a threat." Cassius told him stiffly.

"Here," Buck announced as the carpet flew out of the cavern and into open air that seemed oddly... _warm_ for being up in the Himalayas.

Cassius looked down and saw what seemed to be the remains of an abandoned camp. He pointed to it. "Is that where we're heading?"

The carpet slowed as Buck followed Cassius' gaze, squinting in the sunlight. "Nah, I don't think so. Too new."

"What about that, then?" Joey asked cheerfully, pointing almost straight up. Cassius and Buck craned their necks to look at where Joey was pointing, and were astounded to see, over a hundred feet up the sheer rock face, a set of enormous stone gates attached to the white stone walls of a compound, with stunningly green tree branches and vines spilling out of the top, having grown to such enormity as to not be contained by the walls any longer.

With a thought from Buck, the carpet shot upwards and hovered a few yards away from the gate, the three of them hesitating.

Even as they looked at it, the stone gate began to slide open to reveal a small group of people robed in a variety of warm colours and... was that a white dog in their midst?

With bated breath and a great deal of caution, Buck let down the carpet in front of the gate, and the three stood on somewhat wobbly legs to greet the unsmiling- though not necessarily unfriendly- group, comprised of three men, three women, and a white wolf who, by the look in his yellow eyes, was far more intelligent than anyone might have expected.

One of the men, tall and bald, with dark slanted eyes and a distinct convex curve to his nose, wearing the claret-coloured robe of a monk, stepped forward and spoke. "Name yourselves," he commanded in a powerful voice.

"Uh..." Buck glanced towards Cassius, in hopes that his cousin might jump in as he used to. Buck didn't like dealing with authoritative people, and more often than not he allowed his attitude to get the better of him. Cassius, unfortunately, looked in no state to be answering any sort of questions. He'd gone pale again, eyes wide and blank with either fear or PTSD, Buck couldn't be sure which. His hands were trembling and his knees were shaking more than they had during the brief earthquake they'd experienced a few hours earlier.

"I'm Buck Sachertorte," Buck answered after a moment's hesitation. He watched the white wolf shift slightly, as though hearing his name made it excited or uncomfortable. "This is my cousin, Cassius Malone, and this-"

"Joey Ryder," Joey interrupted with a casual wave and a smile. "Neat pad you got here." The wolf cocked its head quizzically, as though it recognized Joey's name as well, and was all the more mystified by it.

"Why have you come to Shamba-La?" The authoritative bald man asked.

"Uh..." Buck's brow knitted. He really wasn't good at answering questions like these, especially not diplomatically. And what were they searching for, really? Something as intangible as a sense of self? He supposed that was as good an answer as any, and felt like something vague and inoffensive that Cassius would say. "Our sense of self?"

"I'm just along for the ride," Joey grinned. "Hey, I made a pun! Ride, Ryder... neat."

The bald man and his companions gazed evenly at the two djinn boys and Joey. Then, with a sharp, somewhat surprising sound, the wolf barked and bobbed its head quite deliberately.

After listening politely to this, the bald man nodded as well, then turned his attention back to Buck, Cassius, and Joey. "Follow us, please. You will not need your belongings, we will send someone to gather them later." He turned around and swept past the gates, moving so smoothly that it looked almost as though he was floating. His companions followed without a moment's hesitation, as did Joey, but after taking a step or two, he paused and turned back to Cassius and his thousand-yard stare.

"Dude, hurry up. We'll get left behind," Buck complained.

Cassius swallowed, still pale-faced, acting as though he hadn't heard Buck. "This is..." His voice shook as much as his hands. "This is a monastery."

"So?" Buck asked, not understanding what point Cassius was trying to make.

Cassius shook his head and took a step back. "I can't."

"We don't have time for this, man." Buck chided impatiently, and grabbed Cassius by the wrist and dragged him through the stone gates.

* * *

 _ **Author's Notes** **:** Well well well how long has it been? Like two months? In my defence I've moved across an entire ocean and have classes with a ton of reading all of which I'm permanently behind with and is not my forte in literature. My literature classes literally stop right before my area of interest. Same with my history class. And my anthropology class keeps giving me war flashbacks to high school english class and reading "House on Mango Street" (Sandra Cicernos, good book, go read it) and "Buried Onions" (Gary Soto, didn't enjoy it but that might have been because entitled little white girl right-out-of-middle-school me didn't have any context for its story about Mexican gangs and life in el barrio. Maybe I should go read that one again now that I'm not still riding the wave of being in a predominantly white, Catholic, and semi-prestigious grade school.) But anyway, I'm posting this today and I'm still not done with this frickin story. I've been too busy trying to keep up with schoolwork and pursuing my growing obsession with Frankenstein (neat tidbit I learned from history class last week: Geneva, where Victor is from, is also the birthplace of Calvinism a couple of centuries before the events of "Frankenstein," so Victor Frankenstein was probably a Calvinist. Isn't context interesting? (Why can't I write a paper about that?) Anyway, besides the glaring absence of the Oxford comma everywhere, after Halloween, things should settle down for me and maybe I'll be able to get back into writing this fic (I still have a few chapters before it starts to be a hot mess of partial chapters) since that's when all my mid-term essays are due to be turned in. I have not started writing one of them. And I miss my dog. Time to drown my sorrows in tea._ _Ta-ra!_ _~Lucinda_


	39. Chapter 38: Silence of the Phantasms

**Chapter 38: Silence of the Phantasms**

Azazel shut his eyes and leaned against the window, feeling the cool glass on his feverish forehead and listening to the babble that was going on behind him with apathy. April Milton was back, and was vying for her voice to be heard over those of Juliet Brown, Adam Coomes, Nia Malone, William Malone, Henry Peters, and Alphonso De La Rez, among others.

"I SAID," April Milton began with childish exasperation "Teer doesn't DESERVE redemption! He needs to suffer!"

"I disagree, Miss Milton. Everyone deserves a second chance." Adam Coomes spoke up respectfully.

"All due respect, Adam, but what world have you been living in!?" Nia Malone burst out indignantly.

"Yes, really, sir, this boy had us all killed. Or else he killed us himself. I still remember the feeling of blood dripping down my neck..." Juliet Brown added sensibly.

"I hate to say it, Adam, but the ladies raise a good point." William Malone mused.

"Oh, come now Will, not you too?" Adam Coomes pleaded.

Azazel had heard enough. He removed himself from the window- his forehead had stuck a little to the glass, and now it ached- and shuffled through the small crowd of his victims, making a beeline for the liquor cabinet.

"Just look at him!" April Milton scoffed. "He doesn't want to hear us and he thinks alcohol is going to shut us up?"

"I say young man, this is no way to go about solving your problems. You ought to speak with a psychiatrist or at least a psychologist." Adam Coomes advised sensibly, hovering by Azazel's elbow as the djinn wrenched open the doors of the cabinet and seized the first bottle he saw: cheap vodka. Well, it was better than nothing.

"I'm fine, you busybody." He snapped at Adam, fumbling with the cork. "I don't need a psychologist, or a psychiatrist, or a whatever the f*** you suggest next, I need a drink."

"Need a corkscrew there, Teer?" Juliet Brown asked coldly, scarlet blood splashing endlessly from the gash in her neck as she spoke, an angry glint in her sea-green eyes.

"Aw, leave him alone, Doc," said a familiar voice, and Azazel started in surprise, nearly dropping the bottle of vodka.

" _Bart?_ " He gasped, alarmed. "What the hell are you doing here!?"

"Hey, bud." Bart smiled, a strange look on a partially caved-in and very purple face. "I'm here because you killed me, like everyone else. Need help with that cork?"

Azazel shook his head in disbelief. "But you're still alive. You have to be. Mum brought you back, she had to have-"

Bart shrugged, and waved his hand over a corkscrew on the counter, inviting Azazel to take it. Azazel did so with shaking hands and tears in his eyes. Why was he so upset about this? "Whether or not I'm alive now doesn't matter, bud. I was dead, right in front of you, and you were the one who arranged it."

"Because you betrayed me!" Azazel burst out, "You helped Nimrod foil my plans and then you just ran away and took Mum with you!"

"So what?" April Milton asked nastily. "I'm surprised that your mum lasted that long before abandoning you!"

"What did I tell you, bud? If you don't control yourself, you'll end up hurting the people you love as well as those you hate." Bart added impassively.

Azazel opened the vodka bottle and gripped the neck with white knuckles. "Everyone. Just. Shut. Up." He said carefully, and downed the entire bottle in a few quick, desperate gulps, the vodka burning his throat and making him almost gag as he drank. Slamming the bottle back on the counter, Azazel wiped his mouth and listened. Perfect silence. He closed his eyes and steadied himself on the counter. How long could he keep this up? Perhaps he could drink himself to death, and solve all of his problems at once. Though if hanging hadn't worked, would alcohol really do the trick?

Behind him, the door clicked shut, and Azazel felt a vein pulse in his slightly dizzy head. "Asher, I thought I told you to leave me alo-" He turned around and was cut short by his own surprise. Standing quietly by the door was not the raggedy demon, but instead a very clipped, clean-looking djinn that Azazel had never expected nor wanted to see again.

He frowned, grabbed the bottle of vodka, and sniffed it, getting a whiff of vinegar for his trouble. "Goddammit." Azazel muttered darkly, and turned back to the djinn. "What are you doing here, Uncle Ibils? Come to shout at me about how I deserve to die?"

Iblis readjusted the lapels of his tailored Savile Row pinstripe suit and shrugged silently. Well, at least this hallucination wasn't talking. Azazel glowered at the phantasm of his uncle, and noted with vicious satisfaction the angry scars on his face and hands, though, if Azazel hadn't been quite so self-pitying and slightly drunk, he perhaps might have wondered why exactly Iblis wasn't bloody like the rest of his phantasms.

"Well," Azazel said, sweeping his hand in a wide gesture to show his uncle the ransacked hotel room, and accidentally allowing the glass bottle to slip from his slackened grip and shatter against the opposite wall, "You've let yourself in, make yourself at home while I attempt once again to kill myself. Given my luck, it probably won't even work. Again."

Iblis picked his way through the mess on the floor and sat silently in one of the antique bar stools, simply observing.

Azazel turned again to the liquor cabinet and selected a partially filled brandy decanter and two glasses. With shaking hands, he poured the brandy into the glasses, not bothering to mix it with anything. He slid one of the glasses over to Iblis. "You like brandy, don't you? Even though you're a phantasm, at least you're not shouting in my ear like everyone else."

Iblis examined the glass with detachment, then returned his silent attention back to his nephew without touching it. Azazel circled around the bar and sat in the other bar stool, taking a large swig of brandy before resting his forehead on the countertop.

"You were right, you know. About me. Everything you said, every insult. What you said to mum when you disowned her. Those are some of my first memories, you know." Azazel laughed bitterly. "I should have been killed the moment I was born."

Iblis grimaced, and finally picked up the brandy glass, taking uncharacteristically careful sips and paying close attention to what Azazel was saying.

Azazel felt tears begin to prick behind his eyes. "It would have been better for her had I never existed. She could have been happy with Bart, not running away and in hiding all the time. I... I tried to have her killed, you know. My own mum." He felt sick to his stomach at the memory of his cold orders to Dybbuk. How could he have done something so terrible? He couldn't tell if the room was swaying or if he was. "And Castiel... Cassius... whatever he's calling himself now... I..." Azazel straightened up and took another large swig of brandy. "With my own hand..." his voice was becoming slurred with the drink, and he was glad that Iblis didn't demand more effort in elocution. "I drove a demon sword through him with every intention of killing. I'm a..." He hiccoughed, interrupting himself, "m-monster," he finished.

With this admission, the tears that had been prickling behind his eyes began to roll down his face, dripping from the tip of his nose miserably. Snot dripped from his nose, and, somewhere in the part of his mind that observed his own actions, detached from the reality of it all, noticed that it had been a very long time indeed since he'd had a good cry.

Awkwardly, Iblis put his free hand on Azazel's shoulder and patted him in a vague but unexpected gesture of comfort. "Well, urchin," Iblis spoke quietly, using his preferred insulting epithet for Azazel (the familiarity of the insult was strangely comforting) "It appears that we both have plenty to drink about."

Azazel wiped his nose on a corner of his t-shirt. "Wh-what do you mean?" He asked, trying his best not to hiccough again.

Iblis scowled. "Well for starters, I disowned my only sibling in a fit of jumping to conclusions and disregard for consequences. I never even paused to actually listen to her side of the story, I was far too caught up in what I stood to lose by standing with her. Come to think of it, I still don't know what happened to her all those years ago." He sighed, and downed the rest of his brandy.

Azazel shook his head drunkenly. "She knows you never had a problem with- _hic!- her_. It was _me_ you couldn't stand. With good reason. I'm a monster."

Iblis was silent for a moment, looking at his empty brandy glass. "Do you regret it?" He asked, so quietly that Azazel almost missed it entirely.

 _Did he regret it_? Regret what, exactly? Azazel wondered. Regret attempting to have his mother killed? Regret slicing his brother in two? Regret summoning his demonic father back into the physical world? Regret the lost lives of all his phantasms? Regret losing control? Regret being born?

There was so much that took the forefront in his now rarely-lucid mind. All of it, however, haunted him as surely as the phantasm of tiny, loudmouthed April Milton.

"Yes." Azazel answered simply, and Iblis nodded.

"...TETRAGRAMMATONTIS."

In his hand was a small green and gold capsule pill, which he offered to Azazel silently. Azazel took it and held it up to the dying light filtering in through the window.

"Isn't it strange," He mused aloud, "how something so small can just... take everything away in an instant?" He felt calm, relieved even. This would make everything go away. His life, his control issues... he'd not have to worry about putting his family in danger ever again.

Without hesitating a moment longer, Azazel popped the capsule pill into his mouth and threw back one last gulp of brandy. The world around him began to grow in size, Iblis watching with a strange expression... was that regret? Azazel couldn't be sure; he'd never been particularly good at reading others' expressions. He'd never been particularly good at expressing himself, either, come to think of it. His joints stiffened, his vision slipped into monochrome, and he fell on to his back, bouncing a little on the padded seat of the bar stool.

The pain was gone, replaced by an emptiness of feeling as Azazel observed the now enormous world around him. It was as if relinquishing all control- the very thing he had been terrified of to the point of suicide- had somehow banished all of his worries and guilt. He had been sidelined, yes, but strangely he was at peace with the idea.

After waiting a few minutes after Azazel's world stopped growing, Iblis, now a giant, reached over and picked his nephew's stiff body up. "There," He said, as much to himself as to Azazel, "I held up my end of the bargain."

From his hands, two glassy green eyes glinted at him on a miniature waxy face.

* * *

 _ **Author's Notes:** Update schedule? What update schedule? Oh you mean every two months? Uh... Yeah about that I finally finished the one chapter I've been working on for... six months or so, so cut me some slack with this. I still miss my dog but I'm going home at the end of this week so maybe we'll get to chapter 40 by Christmas, but God help me I will f**king finish this goddamn story. I've just been kind of a mess since the elections. I think it's better now that it's not November and there's Christmassy stuff everywhere._

 _Welp, update next week (probably I hope actually on Sunday)_

 _~Lucinda_


	40. Chapter 39: The White Wolf of Shamba-La

**Chapter 39: The White Wolf of Shamba-La**

As soon as Buck dragged Cassius past the stone gates of Shamba-La, a pounding migraine sprang, fully formed, into Buck's skull. A wordless stream of fearful and anxious thoughts was being broadcasted directly into his mind at an unbelievable pace. Buck had no doubts that his cousin was the cause, though perhaps had his head not ached so much, he would have paused to wonder why.

"Dude, _stop_ ," Buck pleaded, scrunching his eyes shut and rubbing his temples with the heels of his hands. His voice was lost in the stream of pictures and imagined scenarios that all seemed to end with a fair amount of blood. Cassius, taking advantage of Buck's distraction, took a step backwards and shivered uncontrollably with anxiety.

One of the women who had been with the group who had met them at the gate turned and smiled at the djinn boys, and, though her lips did not move, both heard her voice, clear, firm, and gentle.

" _Cassius Malone, if you wish to be at peace with yourself, you can find no better place than this to achieve that. But you must follow us. Do not worry: nothing bad can happen here."_

Abruptly, the flow of anxious thoughts paused. Cassius was staring at the woman with either fear or hope- even he could not tell which.

" _Is that really true?"_ He wondered to himself, but to his surprise, though he was certain that he hadn't spoken, the woman nodded and smiled even wider.

" _Yes, dear child, it is. No wickedness is allowed in Shamba-La. You are safe from your demonic father here."_

"Hey wait a minute, what's going on?" Buck asked, finally observing that he could hear other people's thoughts. His migraine had faded quickly after Cassius' anxiety had abated.

" _Here in Shamba-La, Buck, you need not speak to be heard. Thoughts are our way of communication."_ The woman explained.

Buck frowned, then attempted to concentrate, his face going red with effort. It was like relearning how to use his powers for a third time- speaking of which, he couldn't sense them any more. His powers had abandoned him the moment he had stepped through the gates.

" _Do not strain yourself, Buck. You may speak if you are unable to communicate with telepathy."_ The woman's voice appeared again in Buck's mind.

Buck felt embarrassed. Why couldn't he beam his thoughts like Cassius could? All the same, he still had something to say, so he said it. "You sound familiar." He told the woman

The woman smiled yet again. She had a good face for smiling, pretty and round, but strangely ageless. " _I am Yang Jin."_ She introduced herself with a small bow, " _I spoke to you once before on behalf of another. Come now, he is anxious to speak with you both."_

"Who?" Buck asked, but Yang Jin's thoughts provided no answer other than another mysterious smile.

Buck glanced back at Cassius who, though still shaking slightly with nerves, was managing to keep himself together just enough so that his thoughts weren't screaming with horrifying worries, and nodded.

"Let's go then. Come on, Cas. This is what we've been looking for, hasn't it? A place to be at peace with ourselves?"

" _Yes,"_ Cassius confessed reluctantly, apparently unaware that he was communicating telepathically with apparently no effort. " _I just... I just don't want to hurt anyone else. Don't let me hurt anyone else, Buck."_ Tears were in his eyes with the admission.

Buck snorted, averting his eyes, discomfited by the sight of his cousin crying. "Dude, you couldn't hurt a fly. But if it'll get you moving, fine, I won't let you go on a murderous rampage. You want me to pinky-swear or something?"

Cassius shook his head and followed Yang Jin as she swept after the rest of the welcoming party.

They arrived at a fountain, though not in the sense that Cassius and Buck were used to thinking of fountains: it looked more natural than man-made, for one thing. Smooth stones bordered the edges of the water, looking not as though they'd been placed there, but as if they had always been there, and had been worn smooth not by human means, but by the gentle erosion of the spring it bordered. The greenery that they had seen spilling out from the top of the walls seemed to all take root here, almost liquid sunlight falling through the leaves, dappling the ground below an improbably enormous and impossibly ancient maple tree. Smaller plants, most of them flowering in such brilliant colours as to make Cassius' eyes sting with the same sort of offense that media representation of American 1980's fashion did, rendering all other colours drab and dull by comparison, even the gold that littered the place, as if it was just any other rock.

Even Buck, who had observed the majesty of the Amazon Rainforest, had his attention arrested by the vibrant flora and it wasn't until a familiar lilting Irish voice appeared in his head and turned his hot djinn blood cold.

"' _Tis a fact that a glowing ember is easily rekindled, young Dybbuk, and no truer proof of that than you, alive and whole here in Shamba-La."_

"Mr. Rakshasas?" He asked, looking wildly around for any sign of the old Indian man and his white robes and turban, but his heart sank when he saw no trace of the djinn. He was surprised, though, to look down and find the white wolf tugging insistently at the cuff of his jeans.

" _I'm down here, you young eejit."_ The wolf wagged his tail expectantly, looking evenly at Buck with shiny yellow eyes. Buck frowned at him.

"Mr. Rakshasas," He repeated, trying to make sense of what his mind told him was true, "You're a wolf."

" _Aye. Reincarnation is a funny thing, right enough."_ The wolf that was Mr. Rakshasas pushed his head into the palm of Buck's hand, and Buck, fighting back a grin at how delighted he felt to see his friend alive, and trying his best not to reflect on how strange the action was, scratched the old djinn behind his pointed lupine ears.

Mr. Rakshasas sat promptly and allowed his doggy tongue to loll contentedly for a moment before composing himself again and resting a paw on Buck's hand to indicate that he wanted him to stop scratching his ears. "' _Tis good to see you again, laddie, now, why don't you introduce me properly to your cousin there? Aye, it seems to me that despite being here in Shamba-La, he looks as sick as a sheep on his last legs, so he does."_ The wolf part of Mr. Rakshasas enjoyed the idea of eating a nice, fat sheep, and, without seeming to notice, Mr. Rakshasas licked his sharp teeth hungrily as he turned his shining golden eyes to look at Cassius.

Cassius felt some discomfort at being compared to something the wolfish Mr. Rakshasas would quite like to eat, but there was truth in what he had said: Cassius did still feel ill, and in such a place as Shamba-La, with its vibrantly healthy flora and equally vibrantly healthy occupants, it made Cassius wonder if he was sicker than he should be. Chills had left him covered in a cold sweat, and he was hungrier than he'd ever been before in his life, but his stomach was in such chaos that he was certain, just as had happened with the bite of granola bar, his body would reject any nourishment he attempted to ingest. His nose was still stuffed up, though now this may have been a result of the enormous amount of pollen in the air, and he was tired, more tired than he should have been. Having taken this internal assessment, however, he fixed the white wolf with an even gaze and thought, quite deliberately,

" _I'm fine."_

Buck rolled his eyes. "Cas. Dude. We all heard everything you just thought about how crappy you feel."

Cassius felt hot embarrassment rise to his face. " _Sorry."_

Buck rolled his eyes again, then turned back to Mr. Rakshasas. "This is my cousin Cas- um, Cassius. He's been through a lot recently."

" _Aye, I know. We've been observing your actions since you visited my old friend, The Green Dervish. It was he who brought my attention to you two."_ Mr. Rakshasas let out a doggy sigh. " _Most unfortunate, true, but you are, after all, an Ifrit by birth. You can't help but attract bad luck, you know. Most Ifrit use this to their advantage, and inflict their bad luck on the mundanes, but you're taking all of that bad luck upon yourself, Cassius. Quite a noble thing to do, but it's earned you some quite lamentable circumstances, as well as a quite persistent case of djinnfluenza."_

Buck groaned. "You did _not_ just make a flu pun." He said, looking at Mr. Rakshasas with such betrayal that it seemed that it was he, instead of Cassius, who was in physical pain.

Mr. Rakshasas nipped at Buck's wrist with mild annoyance. " _Djinnfluenza is no laughing matter, young djinn. Benjie, would you please start on a cure?"_

Benjie, the monk in the red robe who had spoken to them at the gate nodded and set about gathering up a few of the plants that grew around the fountain, as well as a flask of water from the fountain itself, carrying them into one of the buildings that made up the monastery compound.

" _Djinnfluenza is a particularly rare strain of the influenza virus that can only affect djinn like ourselves and, while generally harmless, much like the regular strains of influenza that affect mundanes annually, should it take hold of a young djinn such as yourself, young Cassius, and remain untreated for quite awhile, it can cause some nasty health complications, even death. I'm rather surprised you didn't think to use your djinn powers while you were outside Shamba-La to fix this."_ Mr. Rakshasas explained. " _How long has it been affecting you?"_

Cassius shrugged. " _Since February, I guess. Since the angel me and the djinn me became two separate entities. So that's... two months?"_

Mr. Rakshasas digested this information and began to pace, deep in thought. " _As I said, quite a tenacious case. Perhaps it has something to do with the sudden absence of your angelic counterpart, who may have served to keep your bad luck under control. 'Tis a tricky thing, to be a bad djinn taking their luck upon themselves, right enough. 'Tis even trickier, young Dybbuk, to be neither a good djinn nor a bad one, and yet attract both."_

Benjie returned to the clearing by the fountain and offered Cassius a clay cup filled with bubbling greenish water that had little leaves floating around in it. "Drink it all." He commanded in his deep authoritative voice.

Cassius took the cup, which warmed his cold fingers and sniffed the steam rising up from the boiling medicine. It smelled strong and sharp, and his stomach gurgled suspiciously at the idea of drinking the concoction. However, since Benjie was still standing before him, sternly watching as Cassius deliberated, Cassius decided that it was probably better if he took the plunge and drank the stuff, leaves and all.

Mr. Rakshasas, Benjie, Yang Jin, and Buck observed the action in silence for a moment before Mr. Rakshasas spoke up once again. " _The water from this fountain cures all ills, Cassius, if you'll only allow it."_

Cassius frowned at the now empty clay cup, and a curious feeling began to take

hold of him: his eyelids grew heavy, and he began to sway unsteadily. " _Then what was the purpose of the herbs?"_ He wondered.

" _It is a sleeping draught. You will sleep for as long as you need to heal, Cassius."_ Yang Jin explained gently, supporting him on one side while Benjie stoically took the other. " _Why don't we lie you down in the library? And remember, nothing bad can come to you in your dreams here. No interference of any kind. You'll be alone with your thoughts."_

" _Isn't this kind of... unethical...?"_ Cassius asked, though he was already beginning to drift off to sleep as Yang Jin and Benjie carried him to the tallest ancient building in the compound.

Buck turned to Mr. Rakshasas. "Why did you have to drug him?" he asked crossly. "That seems like a serious breach of his trust."

" _If you must know, 'tis because waiting for him to collapse from exhaustion would not be remotely healthy for him, and would likely only serve to make his physical and mental state worse than it already is. And with such nightmares as he was worrying about at the gate, there's no doubt in my mind that, given the choice, that boy would stay awake as long as he is able."_ Mr. Rakshasas replied, totally unrepentant. Buck was a little disturbed by this wolfish ruthlessness that his old friend had exhibited, but, with another glance back at Cassius, who was by now fast asleep and halfway through the archway into the library, Buck decided that it was best not to bring it up. It was most probably just a result of Mr. Rakshasas being a wolf, after all, and there's no helping a little ruthlessness when you're a wolf.

* * *

 _ **Author's Notes:** One more week until Christmas! Also I read and reread the sixth book so many times to try and figure out the whole Shamba-La shebang and it was not pleasant. But at least this way I get to make Mr Rakshasas an omnipotent celestial being with loosely defined morals._

 _Ta-ra_

 _~Lucinda_


	41. Chapter 40: Jung at Heart

**Chapter 40: Jung at Heart**

Cassius opened his eyes to darkness, fighting back a groan. Despite Yang Jin's assurances that sleeping would be perfectly safe in Shamba-La, he couldn't shake the feeling that something was lurking in the shadowy confines of his mind. He felt twitchy, as well, given the likely possibility that it was some horrific memory that he'd unsuccessfully repressed, like the sight of Nia Malone being engulfed in flame. Grunting, he sat up and squinted around, starting a little when the familiar bronze lamp materialized by his left hand, the wick flickering and illuminating the cavern with a radius of a few yards.

His heart hammering away with terror in his chest, Cassius looked around for whatever was lurking and, sure enough, saw a shadow shift just outside the circle of weak lamplight.

"Who's there?" He asked, hoping desperately that it wasn't his dead mother again- he didn't think he could watch her burn alive like his last dream without suffering serious psychological damage.

Instead of Nia Malone, however, it was a different woman who stepped into the light. Tall and brown, with a red scarf draped around her hair and the fire from his lamp wick dancing in the reflections in her green eyes, Holly smiled broadly at him. "Well well," she said, stopping a couple feet away from him. "You've gotten us into a pretty pickle, haven't you?"

Cassius couldn't help it: at the sight of his best friend, his eyes filled with tears and he felt his nose beginning to run as he scrambled to his feet to throw his arms around Holly's neck. "Holly it's been horrible," he wept into her shoulder. "I mean, traveling the world with Buck was pretty fun, but then in India-"

"I know." Holly said gently, patting him on the back. "I know everything that you know, Cas. For example, we both know that I'm not really Holly."

Abruptly, and still a bit tearful, Cassius stepped away from the person he had assumed to be Holly and held her at arm's length to examine her. "Then who are you?" He asked, feeling a little betrayed. "A figment of my imagination?"

Not-Holly considered this for a moment. "Not exactly, but something like that, I suppose. You can call me..." She paused, considering what her name was as if she herself was not quite sure, "Sophia. Yes, I think that's right. Sophia."

Cassius frowned. "Why do you look like Holly, then?"

Sophia smiled mischievously. "That's a question you'll have to answer yourself, when you understand exactly who and what I am. For the time being, however, it's very important that we get a move on: Time doesn't exist in Shamba-La, and it exists even less in our own head. So unless we want to keep the real Holly waiting for decades and leave her on her own to deal with old Beelzebub, we'd better hurry up. Come on." Sophia shook his hands off of her shoulders and grabbed his left hand in her right, dragging him away from where he'd awoken, but paused when she noticed the lamp. "Better bring that, too, I suppose," she muttered, picking it up and handing it to Cassius, who held it close to his chest.

"Where are we going?" He asked, glancing around at the shadows around them and worrying that a demon might pop out of them at any moment.

"To find the _Neshamah_ and rid you of your ridiculous fear of fire. Honestly, we're made of the stuff, it makes absolutely no sense to be afraid of it. For such a smart person, you're absolute garbage when it comes to facing your own fears. And coming up with such rubbish fears in the first place. I mean really. The dark? Fire?" Sophia snorted with derision.

Cassius frowned. "I'm not afraid of fire," he protested. "Like you said, I'm made of fire. Why would I be afraid of it?"

Sophia stopped abruptly and tapped on the stony floor with the toe of her shoe. "Here we are," she said cheerfully, without answering his question. "Bombs away then." She smacked the spot on the floor sharply with her toe, and the dark cavern melted away. Cassius was hit with a hot blast of air that forced him to close his eyes and, when he opened them, he was met with the sight of a mid-century modern suburban house almost completely engulfed in flames. His breath caught in his throat when he recognized the house, and a great terror seized him.

"Mom," he whispered, his voice trembling, "Dad."

"They weren't djinn." Sophia explained, her voice inhumanly calm. "That's why they burned up like this. And really, for someone so left-brained, we sure have built up this imaginary scene with quite a lot of meticulous detail." She shrugged. "But in answer to your earlier question, this is exactly why you are so irrationally afraid of fire. Because the parents you so loved were taken by it." Sophia watched the fire calmly and Cassius, seemingly rooted to the slightly scorched ground, did the same, though he could feel his hands tremble involuntarily.

It was dark, as he imagined it would have been that hot summer night when he'd been across an entire ocean in Egypt, performing his Tammuz with the real Holly. The lights of New York City, while dazzling, were a few miles away, glowing eternally in the distance, and they were barely noticeable against the inferno blazing before them, withering the once well-kept lawn, crackling as if with wicked laughter at the heart-wrenching tragedy it caused.

"Well, go on then." Sophia gave Cassius a little push towards the flaming house, just as the windows began to blow out, one by one, sending shards of glass everywhere. "Go and get him. Neshamah."

Cassius looked around at her with disbelief. "Go in there?" He asked incredulously. "Are you crazy?"

Sophia raised her eyebrows, unimpressed. "You and I both know that all this," she waved her hands at the night sky and the smoke rising up into it in great grey clouds, "is nothing but our own imagining of what happened to them. And besides, we're djinn. Fire won't hurt us." She pushed Cassius again, and part of the artistically angled roof sagged as the house burned beneath it.

"I don't understand though," Cassius said desperately. They were so close now that sparks from the fire had begun to leap out at him, singing his clothes and hair painfully. "What am I looking for?"

"You'll know him when you see him," Sophia said primly, and without further ado, shoved Cassius through the fiery threshold into the burning house.

Cassius yelled with fright and threw his arms up over his head to protect his face only to find, after a moment of terrified suspense, Cassius realized that the fire wasn't actually burning him. Nor did the smoke that collected in the upper half of the front hall choke him. Indeed, he would have found the sensation of breathing smoke quite agreeable if it wasn't smoke from the fire that was destroying his childhood home. And as for the actual fire, it was burning all around him yes, even touching him at times, and yet it did not hurt. The fire seemed to tickle a little bit, making him feel warm and comfortable, just as taking a charcoal pill did. The fire didn't even burn his clothes, which Cassius thought very odd, but, he supposed, this was still his dream: perhaps the laws of physics didn't quite apply as they should all the time.

His fear tempered and the fire crackling all around him, Cassius stepped further into the house to look around in the orange glow. There, by the hearth, was the family piano, or what remained of it: it was nothing but a mess of strings, hammers, and half-burned wood now. The television across the room was melting in the heat, the stuffing of the old, comfortable sofa where he and his parents had sat for movie nights burned with a quieter flame, while the electric lamps that had been a gift from William Malone's parents lay shattered and broken on the living room carpet. The guitar that Nia had taught herself how to play had burned down to its strings, and William's tiny home office had fallen into ruin from the fire. The dining room table had collapsed, charred down the middle and still burning, while the refrigerator stood indomitable in the next room, though the plastic handles had begun to melt. The sight of all this destruction left Cassius feeling more sad than scared. Sad that this place, filled with a treasure trove of memories, should be so completely destroyed.

He stepped carefully through the burning kitchen and into the short hallway, pausing before his parents' half-burned door. Did he really want to see what lay behind there? Melancholy though he might be, Cassius remembered all too vividly his last dream about Nia Malone burning alive, and decided, for the moment at least, to skip over that room. Instead, he headed for the next door down, which led to his own bedroom, and more significantly, all his old books.

Cassius' old room was cluttered with books, as it had always been, and the only difference that he could see was the flames spreading over the spines of old beloved classics- there went _Frankenstein, Treasure Island,_ and _The Collected Works of Jules Verne,_ \- of his personal obscure favorites- there went _The Ink Drinker_ , _The Tiger Rising,_ and _Castle in the Air_ ,- of guilty pleasure books- there went _The Red Pyramid, Jurassic Park,_ and his Edgar Allan Poe- of all the books that he'd collected with such care ever since he had learned to read. He rested his hand on his burning desk as he regarded his overstuffed bookshelves with pain: his most precious possessions, and they were all turning to ashes before his eyes. His hand brushed against a book he'd left on his desk before leaving New York for vacation what now seemed like years ago, though it hadn't even been one, and Cassius glanced down, wincing with the irony as he read the title and subtitle of the half-burned book: _Fahrenheit 451: The Temperature at Which Books Burn._

He opened the book and read the first sentence to himself. "It was a pleasure to burn," he mumbled, wondering if indeed burning was inescapable for a djinn like himself. He was made of fire after all. Did fire always have to burn something? Would he always be hurting the people around him?

Feeling sick again, Cassius pushed _Fahrenheit 451_ away from himself and turned around to find that his way was blocked by a mass of fire that seemed somehow more solid than the rest of the flames around them, and as Cassius looked closer at the mass, it seemed to him that perhaps it was human in shape, about the same height as himself and the same general stature as well.

"Are you my Neshamah?" Cassius asked the fire being. Silently, aside from the crackling fire, the being nodded, meeting Cassius' green eyes with eyes made of tiny tongues of greenish fire. The eyes looked longingly at _Fahrenheit 451_ , and then back at Cassius. "Do you want this book?" Cassius asked, surprised at how calm he felt, talking to this embodiment of flames.

His Neshamah nodded again, and held out his blazing left hand for the book. Cassius gave it to him. The moment both of their left hands were touching _Fahrenheit 451_ , the flames that Cassius' Neshamah was made of flared up, huge and terrifying, and began to engulf Cassius himself. As before, these flames didn't hurt him, but made him feel warm and comfortable and maybe even a little safe. He hadn't felt safe since he'd heard about the fire, but now... all felt well.

His Neshamah seemed to melt before him, a crooked smile on his crackling orange face, until his light surrounded Cassius and then, in a moment, all the fire around him died and Cassius was left standing in the charred rubble of his childhood home, holding a book that was mostly ash.

"Nice job," Sophia had appeared at his side, applauding quietly and smiling again. "So now you're over the fear of fire you didn't even know you had." She took _Fahrenheit 451_ from him and took his left hand. "Now we only have one more phobia to face."

Cassius frowned. "Wait-" but it was too late: the ruins of the house vanished around them, replaced with an inky darkness that seemed almost tangible. The bronze lamp, that he'd forgotten he'd been holding, guttered out with a gust of chill dank air, and the only thing Cassius could feel was Sophia's hand in his own. But even as he squeezed it for comfort, she seemed to vanish into thin air, leaving only the scent of smoke behind.

A light appeared above him, weak and flickering, and Cassius tried to look up to see what was happening, but once again he was frozen in place, head down, and observing how the flickering light reflected on a dark, glassy surface below his feet. It reminded him a bit of his _Synopados_ back in Nimrod's attic, and, though it was too dark to see a proper reflection of himself, Cassius could see a shadowy figure outlined by dim firelight that, he guessed, must be his own silhouette. As he and his silhouette looked at each other (Cassius found that, oddly enough, his shadowy reflection seemed to have green eyes too,) the floor began to ripple, like black water, and his shadow writhed with apparent pain, growing large insect-like wings, another set of arms, a serpentine tail, and his eyes turning red and bulbous: it was largely reminiscent of Kafka's _Metamorphosis_ , which, Cassius now realized, was strangely suited to his biological father's epithet: 'Lord of the Flies.'

Shaking with fear was what made him realize that he could again move, and very slowly, his heart hammering wildly in his ears, he knelt and peered into the black water, terrified but at the same time mesmerized by this shadowy creature.

It met his gaze piteously, as if aware of the great monstrosity it had become, and, remarkably,the shadow began to speak to him in a voice that whispered as if it had no moisture in its throat, dry, raspy, and eerily reminiscent of how Cassius imagined either a snake or a fly would talk, if only it had words.

"Please," it pleaded plaintively, as though each word pained it, "End. Me."

Cassius leaned farther toward the shadow, trying to discern features, a face, a trace of humanity- but the shade remained a black monstrosity that twitched involuntarily every few seconds. No vestiges remained of anything the shadow had once been, human or djinn, just pain and misery and torment. Pain so terrible that Cassius knew there was only one thing he could do. A sickly green light shimmered by his left hand and once again, Cassius was holding Azrael's knife. As he drew it back, he wondered if it was indeed possible to put this creature out of its misery, confined as it was below the surface of the black, glassy water.

Cassius looked away as he thrust the knife downwards-

"Hey! What in the heck do you think you're doing, idiot?!" A hand caught his left wrist and held it in a viselike grip. Cassius looked up to see Sophia, mad as a wet hen, glaring at him. Cassius' Neshamah hovered uncertainly at her elbow, eyes flickering between interest and fear. "You kill him, you kill all of us, dummy!" Sophia ranted, shaking his wrist angrily. "And what possessed you to bring a thing like this to a place like here? Have you no caution?"

Cassius felt tongue-tied at this turn of affairs; however much Sophia looked like Holly, she certainly didn't speak in the same way. All the same, he managed to gather his wits enough to point at the monster below the water with his right index finger. "It wants me to end it. That's what it said. I was going to put it out of its misery."

"Cassius," Sophia said sternly, using his name for the first time in their brief rapport, "Don't you remember what Yang Jin told us? Nothing from outside can reach us here. If nothing outside can reach us in here, therefore anything and everything you encounter is a part of yourself, and it is impossible to kill a part of one's self without killing or at least seriously damaging the whole." She cuffed him around the back of his head to help drive the point home. "Anyway, look at him again. Look at what you almost killed."

Cassius looked down at the black water and the shadowy reflection, only to find that the monstrous qualities had vanished from his reflection, leaving a clearly human-shaped shadow that watched him with fearful green eyes. He also noticed, somewhere in the back of his mind, that neither Sophia nor his Neshamah had a reflection of their own in the water.

"Idiot." Sophia sniffed again. "Now help him up out of there. And try not to get water everywhere, it's liable to make it damp and encourage mildew."

"Can I get mildew in my mind?" Cassius asked, delaying the moment he would have to reach towards the glassy black water.

"You can if you don't clean it regularly. And boy howdy have you let cobwebs grow in here. Ever since Casca left, you haven't done any kind of upkeep on this place. Honestly, it's disgraceful. And let's not even get started on your physical body. I mean, have you even heard of scissors? You need to do something about that hair the minute you wake up, I mean it." Sophia waved her hand in an irritated flourish and a cigarette appeared in her fingers. "Light me up, will you? This whole nonsense about being frightened of shadows is giving me a headache." She held the cigarette out towards Cassius' Neshamah, who lit it with the tip of his left forefinger. The end glowed green as Sophia took a long drag and exhaled black smoke. She looked back at Cassius with mounting irritation. "What are you still dawdling for? Chop-chop, we need to wake up, get a haircut, and stop dear old dad. You know what that demon will do if we're not there to stop him."

Cassius frowned at her. "Who are you, Sophia?" He asked quietly.

Sophia smiled mysteriously and held her elbow in her free hand, the cigarette trailing smoke into the air, obscuring her. Her eyes glinted green with her reply. "I'm quite sure I already shared that with you, but tell you what. If you get Mister Shadow out of that puddle there and settle your differences properly, that is, without using that terrible knife, I'll tell you straight out. Give you my scientific nomenclature and everything. But like I said, you'd better hurry up, since we don't have as much time as anyone thinks."

With that, she and Cassius' Neshamah vanished in a puff of black smoke, leaving Cassius alone with his reflection again. He looked at it, and it met his gaze. "You know, Sophia is right." He told it, trying his best to sound determined. "And Holly was right, too. I'm not going to get anywhere being afraid of the dark."

Before he could lose his nerve, he plunged his arm into the black water and gasped at how cold it was. It felt as cold as the Antarctic sea, like his left arm had been frozen instantly into a block of ice. He tried to tug it out, but something in the water seemed to have a hold on him.

"Don't. Go." His shadow spoke again, pleading with him. "It's. Cold. Here." Now that he was closer, Cassius could see features begin to form- a mouth, a perfect copy of his own, but blue with cold, sunken cheeks that seemed to hint at thousands of years trapped in ice, dead but perfectly preserved. The unseen force- perhaps it was the shadow himself- pulled on Cassius' arm, dragging him deeper into the cold. Cassius bit his tongue in an effort not to scream with pain, but it was useless. He was pulled deeper into the water, headfirst, and a scream escaped his lips just before his head sank below the black water. Then, as the last toe of his shoe slipped below the surface of the water, all was silent.

* * *

 _ **Author's Notes:** Happy Christmas (the day this goes up doubly reminding me i'm going to hell probably)! Ugh, I only have one more week before I have to go back to Uni and study for exams. Not to mention I'm starting to run out of completed chapters for this fic and dear lord it's still not finished. Oh well._

 _Happy Holidays!_

 _~Lucinda_


	42. Chapter 41: Rollicking Rhetoric

**Chapter 41: Rollicking Rhetoric**

Buck sat next to the wolf that was Mr. Rakshasas in silence, tugging absently at the fuzzy pale green leaves of a plant he vaguely recognized as lamb's ear. The leaves were soft, and the idea of how odd it was to be petting a plant took his mind off of the fact that Mr. Rakshasas was, for the moment at least, not speaking to him, but instead gazing intently at a large mosaic mandala that the wall on which they were sitting overlooked.  
Well, thought Buck with some annoyance, he had come all this way on a vague phrase given to him by Holly, didn't he deserve to be fussed over a bit? After all, it was he who'd had the initial idea of leaving England and America far behind him, an idea brought on by the existential dread that is inevitable when half of you is dead for awhile and suddenly finds its way back into your still living body. And while Cassius was certainly smarter academically than Buck- for one thing, Cas actually bothered with learning new and complicated things, and Math, which Buck despised, was Cassius' second-favourite subject- Cassius seemed to be lacking in what Buck had, by now, developed into a second nature; that being the ability to move on when something bad happened and not stand stock-still and terrified and completely shut down. Buck had learned, fairly early on, to roll with the punches, literally and metaphorically. A missing sister and the messy divorce of your parents will sometimes do that to a child. But Cassius, who'd never had anything worse than a dead goldfish lurking in the depths of his childhood, didn't know how to handle bad situations. He'd never got himself into trouble, so he didn't know how to wriggle his way out of it, like Buck did.

And now, perhaps, locked away in the confines of his own mind, he was learning a little self-reliance, but that didn't help Buck. Buck still felt his own evil side lurking somewhere just beyond his reach, buzzing like a burst of static almost every time he spoke.

"When I was in Peru," Buck began to speak slowly, as much to himself as Mr. Rakshasas. He felt the buzzing begin almost immediately. "You showed up, Mr. Rakshasas. Well, not quite you, but kind of... well, a ghost, I guess."

" _Aye,"_ Mr. Rakshasas thought absently, still staring at the mandala below. " _That would be a wee bit of myself that I attached to you, in case you were ever in need of some sage advice. So it showed up to you, did it?"_

"Yeah," Buck nodded. "But I didn't listen to it."

Mr. Rakshasas sighed a wolfish sigh. " _I knew you were headstrong, right enough, though to my thinking it couldn't have hurt if you were truly wanting for advice."_ They lapsed into silence again, and Buck at last followed his old friend's gaze to the mandala.

"What are you looking at down there, anyway?" He asked, his eyes feeling odd as he looked at the perfectly symmetrical design, though not quite able to place why.

" _Stories,"_ Mr. Rakshasas replied enigmatically, his gaze not wavering from the mosaic. Buck frowned at him and looked again. To his surprise, it seemed to him that the mandala shifted and swirled fluidly, while standing still. What was more, sometimes it seemed to not be there at all, replaced occasionally by the insubstantial sight of... something else; it was never the same twice. People wearing desperate expressions, people laughing, crying, stone-faced... Once he had seen the images, they seemed to multiply faster than he could comprehend, making him feel dizzy.

"Stories?" He asked, gripping the edge of the wall so that he would not fall over.

" _Aye,"_ Mr. Rakshasas confirmed grimly. " _But never you mind them. For now, at least. But it's how I've been able to keep an eye on you and your cousin, since the Green Dervish was kind enough to bring my attention to you while you were in India."_

Buck shifted uncomfortably. "You were watching us all this time?"

" _To be sure, how did you think I knew you needed directions to this place?"_ Mr. Rakshasas asked, slightly indignant, and at last looked Buck in the eye.

Buck shrugged. "I thought you were dead though. That's what your... wish advice thingy told me in Peru, anyway." He glanced at the mandala and the image of steaming jungle that seemed superimposed on it. "I thought I was dead."

" _You want to know why it is that you've been given an extra lease on life, even though you very deliberately threw it away three years ago?"_ Mr. Rakshasas queried calmly.

Buck nodded. The jungle had gotten a lot more vertical, and he suddenly caught a glimpse of that horrible moment when he'd split himself into two and been crushed to death. Sort of. Halfway. The evil half of him had lived, after all. And yet his muddled memory of that incident told him that Philippa had said that he'd die of radiation poisoning if he'd stayed in that strange enantiodromian place. Logic told him that he shouldn't have had a body to reclaim, but...

"' _Tis because the world needs to know that the youngest son of Iblis Teer can do great Good. 'Tis because, of all the djinn, those in the Seventh Tribe, like yourself, are the closest to being human, and that is important. Life is complicated for you 'Manbudhin,' more complicated than what is Good and what is Evil. There are others like you, you know, who have achieved balance. The world outside the lamp is changing, and so too is djinnkind."_

"There are other people like me?" Buck asked, feeling a chill run down his spine. He'd never heard of any other djinn who belonged to neither good tribes nor bad.

" _Oh yes,"_ Mr. Rakshasas nodded, " _I believe your friend Holly has already met another 'Manbudh' in London. But tell me something, laddie. Why, when you recovered your body and powers, did you choose to cast yourself into the wilderness instead of return home to your mother who has missed you since you became that magician on television?"_

Buck fixed his gaze again on the soft lamb's ear leaves, the uncertainty returning to the pit of his stomach in full force. He shrugged wordlessly.

" _It's all right,"_ Mr. Rakshasas said, a note of gentleness sneaking its way into his wolfish thoughts. " _There are times when we cannot see the end of our own journey, and that is the way of things, to be sure."_

"I just..." Buck furrowed his brow as he tried to find words to explain himself, "I knew I couldn't go back with the way I'd left. And I didn't know how to fix them. I still don't." Again the sight of Philippa's horrified face seemed to flash before his eyes on the mandala below. "Sometimes I think it might have been better for everyone if I'd just stayed dead."

Mr. Rakshasas lost his patience at that: sternly, he nipped at Buck's elbow. " _Have you gone daft in the head, young djinn?"_ He demanded indignantly. " _Think for a moment about everything you have done since returning from the grave. You helped save your friend Holly when she was in dire peril, did you not? You helped foil that young fool Azazel's grand plans, did you not? You helped your cousin Cassius to get here, even after he had lost all motivation to continue? You are here for a reason, Dybbuk. That reason is to come to terms with yourself as a whole. To realize that you are not your father. You will never be your father. But that does not change the fact that Iblis_ is _your father, and there will always be a part of you that will not forget he is an Ifrit."_

The words stung. "So you're saying that I don't even have a choice? I have to be evil? Thanks a lot, Mr. Rakshasas." Buck scowled.

" _There is also a part of you that will not forget that he is a Marid,"_ Mr. Rakshasas amended, calmer now but still clearly annoyed. " _As a Manbudh, you must learn to keep these elements of yourself in balance."_

Buck's scowl twisted with confusion. "So you're saying I shouldn't be good or evil? You mean like the Blue Djinn? I don't think I can do that."

" _I am not saying that you_ shouldn't _,"_ Mr. Rakshasas answered. " _I am saying that you should be more human. More balanced. Forcing yourself to do only Good may easily lead you into disastrous results because of your natural contrariness. Forcing yourself to do only Evil will inevitably blacken your soul and send you to Hell or madness. Perhaps both. But humans, Dybbuk, humans are more like you. No human is either good or evil, they are both and act accordingly. Rarely do they worry about the cosmological results of their actions. They act in the moment."_

Buck's head seemed to spin with the confusing message buried within the confusing rhetoric. "So what you're saying is..." He squinted at the wolf, struggling to comprehend. "Be myself?"

" _Exactly."_ Mr. Rakshasas nodded. " _But be your best self, Dybbuk. Will you do that?"_

Buck looked down at the mandala and was hardly surprised to see an image of his mother clutching a box of tissues and in tears. Though he wasn't surprised, he still felt a pang of painful regret: she was exactly as he had seen her the day before he'd begun his disastrous career as a magician. Buck nodded. "Yeah," he said, "Okay."

From the mandala, a young woman he thought he recognized smiled at him warmly.

" _Excellent. Let us begin your meditation exercises at once."_ Mr. Rakshasas stood and tugged gently at Buck's sleeve.

"Okay," Buck repeated absently, standing. Then the words hit him. "Wait _what?!_ " He squawked.

" _Introspection is essential, young djinn, for inner balance."_ Mr. Rakshasas chided, his yellow eyes glinting. " _You thought to be in balance after one mild conversation with an old man? You thought wrong, sonny djinn!"_

* * *

 ** _Author's Notes:_** _Okay so I know this is kind of a slow chapter and all but I have really exciting news! I finally finished writing this goddamn fic! And the end! OMG! Can't wait!_

 _Oh also the next guaranteed update is the 22nd, I'm not in the country next Sunday. Might be one next Wednesday, if I need another break from not studying._

 _333_

 _~Lucinda_


	43. Chapter 42: Fear and Self-Loathing in NY

**Chapter 42: Fear and Self-Loathing in New York City**

" _Lord, forgive the wrong I have done."_

Cassius was thirteen again. He knew he was thirteen because that was the last time he had set foot in the large, echoing, neo-gothic edifice of Saint Patrick's Cathedral on 5th Avenue. It was dark inside the cathedral, darker than it should have been, and, quite curiously, he found himself completely alone in the enormous church. And yet, he couldn't shake the feeling that he was being watched. Cautiously, Cassius stood and exited the pew he had found himself seated in, pausing only to genuflect respectfully towards the distant figure of the golden crucifix behind the altar, and looked around at the galleries underneath the monumental pointed gothic arches that surrounded the main area, called the nave. It was dark, too, and the shadows were deep: all the electric lights had been turned off, and the dusty light filtering in through the magnificent stained glass windows was weak, suggesting that it was perhaps around dusk outside, on a balmy summers' evening. If there was an outside at all to this place, Cassius pointed out to himself; this was, after all, a concoction of his own mind, and as such, perhaps an outside of the old cathedral was unnecessary.

But why, Cassius wondered as he peered up into the organ loft behind him to see if whoever was watching him happened to be up there, was he suddenly so gripped by the certainty that he was thirteen again? What was the significance? He hadn't done anything important when he was thirteen. It would be two years before he got his wisdom teeth out and discovered that he was a djinn. And why, if his mind was to conjure up a church, had it chosen this one? Why not the Holy Innocents Church, which was not only closer to where his old house had been, but the traditional Latin services of which had been attended faithfully by Cassius and his adoptive parents. Those Masses had been the catalyst for Cassius wanting to learn Latin properly, to better understand the solemn chants and eloquent prayers said at that church in the famously dead language. Which, with a lot of determination, and books, not to mention a little djinn power used prudently, he had. But the fact remained that Cassius was thirteen years old and standing alone in Saint Patrick's Cathedral, not fifteen and at the Holy Innocents Church, or even sixteen and at the Our Lady Queen of Heaven Catholic Church, only a few blocks away from Nimrod's house at Stanhope Terrace.

Cassius looked up at the vaulted ceiling of Saint Patrick's, so far above him it seemed that it might just as well have been the sky itself, and frowned. Was this all that lay beyond the glassy water? He didn't feel bitingly cold anymore, but he didn't feel as comfortably warm as his young djinn body would have liked. Sophia had said something about facing his fears, hadn't she? Yes, and something about sorting out his differences with the shadow without resorting to the use of Azrael's knife. He was happy enough to pretend that that knife didn't exist, but how was he to sort out differences when the shadow had dragged him into this church at this very particular time- June 13th, 2010, to be exact, at around 9 o'clock in the evening.

Above him, in the deserted organ loft, the keys of the organ console began to move on their own, eliciting a somber but very simple melody, like those that accompanied the daily psalm on which parishioners were meant to meditate in between readings. And then the refrain floated to his ears again, more noticeably this time.

" _Lord, forgive the wrong I have done."_

Cassius felt his knees shaking, and steadied himself on the end of the nearest pew with his left hand. Forgiveness was exactly what he needed, but did he need forgiveness right now? Could he forgive himself for killing father Desai?

 _No_ , a small voice seemed to tell him. _You'll never forgive yourself, but that doesn't really matter now, does it? A life is a life, and there's only one person you can go to in order to properly apologize._

The crucifix at the front of the cathedral began to gleam with a soft, golden light as a beam of dying sunlight hit it at the exact right angle.

 _Yes exactly._ The small voice told him approvingly.

There was something distinctly creepy about the cathedral, deserted and bathed in twilight as it was, and it bothered Cassius that he could not figure out why. He got a bit of an idea, however, when a hand set itself on his shoulder.

He spun around and found himself face to face once again with the shadow, and he felt his blood go cold. This time, however, he tried to keep his wits and reason this out. A cold wind howled through the empty church and buffeted them both, causing the shadow's outline to shiver and blur like static. The light outside the stained glass windows began to vanish, leaving only the light of hundreds of candles to illuminate the surroundings.

" _Lord, forgive the wrong I have done._ " The empty organ loft sang again.

"Are you the demon part of me?" Cassius asked the shadow, trying not to let on how much his knees were shaking, how cold he felt, or how fast his heart was beating.

The shadow blinked his green eyes mournfully. "I am. Everything. You are. Reversed." He said laboriously, a statement that neither confirmed nor denied Cassius' accusation.

Another roaring winter wind swept through the cathedral, extinguishing almost half of the candles and making the rest gutter wildly.

"I'm not afraid of you," Cassius told the shadow (a blatant lie) as the temperature dropped steadily and he began to shiver. Was he still thirteen? And again, why thirteen? What was the significance?

The shadow was silent for a moment. He seemed to gain solidity, though the edges remained as static and out of focus, buzzing from time to time as it thought. "I am. Afraid." He stated simply, shivering even more and folding his shadowy arms, elbows shaking.

"What are you afraid of?" Cassius asked the shadow tensely.

Once again, the shadow met Cassius' green gaze with one of his own. "You. Neshamah. Our true. Father. Everything. Even. Sophia. Even. Holly."

Cassius felt starkly offended. How could any iteration of himself, even one made out of the dark, his oldest and worst fear, be afraid of Holly?

"Why would you be afraid of Holly?" Cassius asked the shade, outrage flooding in past the fear.

The shadow flinched away from Cassius' raised tone of voice. "It's not. Exactly. What you. Might think. It's just. She's so..." The shadow took a deep breath, shaking like a leaf as the winter wind crept its way once again into the cathedral. "She shines so brightly that being around her sometimes seems like looking into the sun." The shadow gasped out in a single breath. Then, with tears in his eyes, he added "The sun. Burns too bright. So does. Holly."

Cassius' outrage faded, replaced by a sensation that he suspected was sympathy. Did he really feel sorry for this shadowy iteration of himself? Why? "Look," he said, choosing his words carefully, "I know Holly can be a bit much sometimes, and especially with the whole prophet and destiny stuff going around it's kind of intimidating, but she's still my best friend in the entire world. She'd never let anything bad happen to the people around her, I promise."

Cassius reached out to place a hand on the shadow's shoulder, but the shadow flinched away and looked up to the organ loft, from whence, once again, the eerie refrain was drifting to their ears.

"I'm afraid." The shadow said, shaking like a leaf in a stiff breeze, "That Holly. Won't be able. To forgive. Us."

Cassius felt another chill, this one more acute than any preceding, run down his spine. "What do you mean?" He asked the shadow, though he already knew. The shadow remained silent for a beat, then turned his eyes back to the crucifix at the front of the cathedral. "Oh. Right."

"Does. This mean. We're. A Demon?" The shadow asked, and again, Cassius felt an icy chill grip him.

"I don't know." He said quietly. "But that's why we need to go back, isn't it? That's why we need to stop being afraid of ourselves?"

The shadow's edges rippled uncertainly. "I don't. Like being. Afraid." He admitted.

"I don't think fear will ever really leave," Cassius answered thoughtfully, "but I think things were less scary when we had all our friends by us." He looked up at the altar again. "I guess that's why we're here and now. I think being part of this parish was the last time I remember feeling that I belonged to a collective that I wanted to be a part of. But you know, we can't belong to a group if there's no group to belong to. It's lonely."

"But what. About. Father. Desai?" The shadow asked urgently.

Cassius frowned. "I think... Well, we definitely have to serve a penance, but I think that's going to have to wait. Don't you remember? There's a ridiculously powerful demon after us. And I'm tired of running, aren't you?"

After a moment of hesitation, the shadow nodded.

Taking a hymnal from the nearest pew, Cassius took a step towards his shadow and offered the book in a coaxing gesture. "So let's sing a different song for awhile, okay?"

The shadow extended a hand, trembling for a moment before he took the other end of the book in his shapeless fingers and nodded resolutely.

Shadows swallowed everything, but for the first time in his life, Cassius didn't feel fear come with the dark.

* * *

Cassius opened his eyes with a gasp, sweating from head to toe. His legs were tangled up in heavy blankets that he struggled wildly to kick off, only succeeding in falling off of the narrow antique bed he'd been sleeping on, landing on the beige carpet and getting all of the wind knocked out of him.

A snort came from the chair by the desk and Cassius looked up to see Sophia, her cigarette dangling from her lips, still smoldering black smoke, reading _Fahrenheit 451_. "Nice going. You can calm down now, buddy. You faced your fear. Mister Shadow is happy." She tugged her cigarette from her mouth and gestured vaguely at a corner of the yellow room that was draped in more shadows than the rest. The insubstantial shadow, whose only features were those green eyes, looked back at him and nodded, clutching the old hymnal as if it were his most precious possession. "And Mister Fire is pleased, too." She nodded towards Cassius' Neshamah, who stood in the opposite corner and burned quietly. Somewhere, a clarinet began to meander its way to a loose, shapeless tune. It was... jazzy. Cassius looked around the room more closely and discovered that it was in fact his childhood bedroom as it had been before the fire.

"What about you?" He asked Sophia. "Are you happy?" Sophia shrugged.

"I accomplished what I knew I needed to accomplish. So yes. I suppose that I could be happy. You understand, though, that a thing like me doesn't have any feelings of her own. So I'm glad that you're powering through your anxiety and creeping depression. We can work on that after we work on fixing the threat of immediate physical and spiritual danger. No good being mentally well if we're all dead." A thrumming bass joined the clarinet. "Once you go through that door, you'll wake up. But be warned: time always passes strangely in dreams, and it passes even more strangely in Shamba-La."

Cassius disentangled his legs from the blankets and stood. "Sophia, you promised to tell me who you are."

Sophia put the book down on the desk and took another long drag on the cigarette. "Right. What was I called again? Oh, that's it!" She snapped her fingers and pointed at him, smiling. "I'm your _Anima._ "

Cassius looked her in the eye- green, exactly like his, why had he thought they were brown?- and panicked. He could feel a flush creeping up his neck. "If you're my _Anima_ ," he began slowly, "then why do you look so much like Holly?"

Sophia cackled with mock wickedness, green eyes twinkling with mirth. "Isn't that the million-dollar question?" She exhaled the black smoke again. "By the way, once you get out of Shamba-La, definitely pick up a pack of these things. It'd really warm things up in here."

"But... _why_?" Cassius asked, still trying to grasp the reasons behind the manifestation of his feminine inner personality looking so very much like his best friend.

"Put it this way:" Sophia grinned, cigarette waggling between her teeth as she talked, "Before Casca left, I wasn't even needed. But you, Cassius? On your own? Inconceivable. You needed someone to help you know what to do, and Holly seemed to be that person who always helped you figure things out, even when she wasn't trying."

"I Like. Holly." The shadow spoke up with a laborious whisper from his corner. "She's. Warm." Cassius' Neshamah nodded with vigorous agreement, spitting sparks with each movement.

Cassius stood by the desk, feeling mortified. Then, without another word to Sophia, the shadow, or his Neshamah, he fled through the door.

* * *

 _ **Author's Notes** **:** What the hell, have another chapter this week because I'm impatient, unwilling to study, and having a mini vacation starting today, not that I've earned it. This way, we'll be done the last week of January._

 _~Lucinda_


	44. Chapter 43: Ceci N'est Pas une Pipe

**Chapter 43: Ceci n'est pas une Pipe**

Holly sat with her head on the kitchen table next to her silver lamp, headband and all. She had decided, with some advice from Philippa, that the lamp should not leave her sight until Iblis showed up to reclaim his irritating child. "Sarah," She whined, "Can't you tell Alexandra that I've learned my lesson? I'm a growing djinn, I need hot food. And coffee. And hot soup." She sniffed the air longingly. "Your hodgepodge soup smells so good."

Sarah stirred the stockpot calmly. "Holly, you agreed that Alexandra and Nimrod were justified in punishing you."

"Yeah but that was then. I'm chilly now." Holly turned her head so that her face was on the table, and put her arms out in front of her listlessly. "I didn't realize not having hot food could make me feel so chilly."

"It's really a shame," John said, slurping steaming soup carefully, holding the spoon daintily in his bandaged hand. "This is good stuff."

Philippa, seated next to Holly, rolled her eyes, but was fighting back a smile. "John, we had tea like an hour ago."

"That was a snack," John protested, his mouth full of soft potato. "And this is the first time I've liked vegetables since I was a toddler." He swallowed. "Can't you appreciate that, Phil?"

Sarah beamed at John. "High praise indeed, John."

"It's weird, but I feel like my hands are getting better. And my ribs don't hurt so much anymore."

"That's just what hodgepodge soup _does_." Holly said, her voice a little muffled by the table. "It makes you better. Every time." She looked up at Sarah again. "And where did Mark go? I thought you two were catching up or something."

"We did that," Sarah nodded in time to her wooden spoon. "But he needed to go lie down. Concussions are nasty business, Holly."

Philippa nodded in agreement. "That's right, I remember someone got a concussion from a pelican and didn't act quite the same for a long time-" She stopped, frowning. "John? Do you remember who that was?"

John shrugged, jamming a spoonful of potatoes and bits of steak into his mouth. "I don't remember anyone getting a concussion from a pelican. Kind of weird, Phil. Who ever heard of a bird giving someone a concussion?"

Nimrod walked through the swinging kitchen doors. "Light my lamp, Sarah, but does whatever you're cooking smell delicious. What is it? Dinner, I hope?"

Sarah smiled warmly. "It seems my hodgepodge soup refuses to go unnoticed. And as for it being dinner, well, you'll have to hope that John doesn't eat it all."

Nimrod's eyebrows popped up in mild surprise. "You, John? Eating vegetables?" He teased gently.

"It's good soup," John said defensively, pulling his bowl a few inches closer to himself.

"By the way, Nimrod, were you aware that your house is being watched?" Sarah asked pleasantly.

Nimrod's amiable smile froze on his face. "Might I ask by whom?" He asked tensely. Sarah smiled, closed her eyes, and stirred the stock pot. Anxiously, but still making a great show of shivering visibly, Holly looked up from the table to watch the gathering unease unfolding in the kitchen.

"I'd say... djinn. Nothing much to worry about. Ah- he's an Ifrit. Would you like me to go and invite the young djinn in for some soup so he might explain himself?" Sarah smiled, utterly relaxed in the face of everyone else's agitation.

"It's not Iblis or Jirjis or anyone as such?" Nimrod asked anxiously.

Sarah's smile widened and she shook her head. Then, dusting her hands off on her apron, she handed the wooden spoon to Nimrod. "Would you care terribly to mind the soup while I go and sort this out?"

"Sarah, you mustn't trouble yourself with this, it's my house, I can deal with one Ifrit..." Nimrod said weakly, but Sarah was already out of the kitchen.

"Hey Dad. I can mind the soup." Holly volunteered with a winning smile. Distracted, Nimrod was about to offer her the wooden spoon, when he remembered something and drew it back with a disapproving frown.

"Young djinn, if this is some sort of ploy-" He began sternly, but his attention was diverted by a shout from outside- what seemed like someone screaming their focus word.

" _DACNOMANI- aaaaAAAAAH!_ "

The soup was forgotten and Nimrod left the wooden spoon clattering on the table to hurry out the back door, not noticing Holly at his heels, clutching the silver lamp that contained Rudyard and Casca, while she herself did not notice Philippa following at a brisk pace, leaving John to sit awkwardly in his wheelchair alone in the kitchen.

It had stopped raining by that time, and the sun was already sinking beyond the horizon, leaving the damp, somewhat chilly air with the golden light that occurs just before sunset. All three djinn- Nimrod, Holly, and Philippa- stopped abruptly on the veranda when they saw Sarah, smiling impassively at a young man, about Mark's age, whose pale face burned with the shame of being easily discovered and subsequently defeated.

"Would you care for some soup, young djinn?" Sarah asked the interloper pleasantly. "It will warm your bones and nourish your inner fire."

Holly squinted at the young man critically as his anger bubbled silently, apparently unable to be adequately expressed. He was pale, though his cheeks flushed red with anger, and his hair was dark brown, and there was something about his face that seemed wonderfully and horribly familiar to Holly...

She gasped loudly and pointed somewhat rudely with her free hand. "Holy cannoli! You're Jonathan Teer, aren't you! I remember you from Madrid!"

"FFFFF-" Jonathan Teer puffed in an apparently herculean effort to pronounce an expletive, but apparently found himself unable to do so; a vein pulsed visibly at his temple and Sarah tutted.

"Really now, is it such an enormous feat for you Teer boys to show a little common courtesy? The English language is so vast and varied and all you can think to use in self-expression are swear words?" Sarah shook her head in disappointment.

Ignoring this, Jonathan puffed out the rest of his thought, omitting the oath. "Where is my kid brother? I know he's here, I saw him through the window when I was that tree!"

From the lamp came incoherent muffled shouting, presumably Rudyard's response to the sudden appearance of his brother.

"I'm not at liberty to discuss that." Holly flicked the side of her lamp with a fingernail, and the muffled shouting stopped.

Nimrod, observing this exchange, let out a long, tired sigh. "Well," he said reluctantly, "I suppose you had better come inside and explain yourself, Mr. Teer."

* * *

They sat, all of them, in tense silence around the dining room table. Alexandra was at one end, her expression pinched and disapproving, and Nimrod opposite, still looking tired and strangely weary. Even Mark had been woken from his nap and was observing the scene with confused blinks. Jonathan Teer sat alone on one of the long sides of the table, carefully distancing himself from all the other djinn and keeping his dark eyes fixed carefully on Holly's silver lamp, which she carefully had laid a hand across. John and Philippa sat flanking Holly, eyeing the evil djinn apprehensively, remembering that time, so long ago, it had seemed, that they had nearly run into him at the djinnverso tournament just after their first eventful summer as djinn, just after Iblis had been sentenced to ten years on Venus by Ayesha the former Blue Djinn, for all that sentence had been worth. Groanin sat next to Nimrod, drumming his fingers absently on the edge of the table, so nervous that he was quite forgetting proper manners. Only Sarah seemed perfectly at ease, and smiled at each and every one of them as she dished out her hodgepodge soup, except of course to Holly, who received a bowl of cold cereal.

Holly was feeling fidgety. Thoughts were reeling around her mind and making her chew on the end of her (unlit, sadly) pipe. It wasn't so much that Iblis' death threat was echoing in her ears, no, though she was sure that the words were going around and around Groanin's bald head, it was more that the very appearance of Jonathan Teer bothered her deeply. She remembered, when she had first seen Jonathan last summer, bound by Azazel in order to perform some idiotic ritual in order to raise some ancient heavenly weapon of destruction, that she had thought the Ifrit looked distressingly like Cas, though paler and with dark brown eyes rather than green. Now, however, she had met Iblis, Jonathan's father, and she could not deny that there was a strong family resemblance between father and son, and _that_ led her to the even _more_ distressing and absolutely _horrifying_ realization that _Iblis himself_ looked _frighteningly similar_ to Casca and Cassius. This revelation was taking a toll on Holly, especially as every time she so much as _thought_ about Iblis she shuddered with disgust. Helpful with Azazel though he might prove himself to be, Holly did not relish the idea of having to deal with Iblis any further than was necessary; besides the whole wicked scheme that had led to her spiritual incarceration in that horrible jade pyramid, and besides the fact that he was without a doubt Nimrod's greatest enemy, Iblis Teer just plain annoyed Holly.

Nimrod cleared his throat abruptly. "So are you going to tell me what you were doing, spying on my house, or are things going to have to get much more unpleasant around here?" His tone was polite enough, but held an edge of something that Holly didn't think she'd heard in Nimrod's voice before. It wasn't quite the same as annoyance- she'd heard _that_ Nimrod Voice plenty of times in the short year they had known each other- but it wasn't anger, either. More like quiet, clipped rage and indignation.

Jonathan's eyes momentarily darted from the silver lamp that contained his brother to Nimrod. Holly fully expected the sullen djinn to remain stubbornly silent, but to her surprise, he answered, albeit in a surly mumble. "Waiting for dad to show."

Nimrod's jaw twitched, but it was Alexandra who asked the next question. "And, pray tell, _why_ would you wait for your father _here_?" If Nimrod's voice held clipped rage, then Alexandra's voice held the same tone as an obscenely polite volcano exploding.

Jonathan crossed his arms and leaned back defensively in his seat. "Because I knew he was gonna stop here."

"Why?" Sarah asked benignly, and Jonathan jumped, visibly shaken, looking at the redheaded angel whom he had not noticed take a seat right next to him.

He scooted his chair a few inches away from Sarah, and shot a poisonous look right at Holly. "Because," he raised his chin in a show of either arrogance or defiance, "I set her up."

Holly suddenly stopped chewing on the end of her pipe, her eyes suddenly wide. Nimrod's eyes narrowed. "How?" He demanded. Jonathan smirked.

"I forged a letter." He replied, very self-satisfied. " _From Cas_."

Holly's jaw dropped, and the pipe landed with a soft splash in her bowl of cereal.

* * *

 _ **Author's notes:** hahahahahHAHAHAHAHA HAHAHAHAHA WHAT A GODDAMN TWIST, AM I RIGHT? LOOK AT ME, TYING UP LOOSE ENDS AND SUSPICIOUS LETTERS! LIKE A YEAR AFTER I BEGAN BUT YOU KNOW BETTER THAN THREE YEARS, RIGHT? Also side note i'm so obnoxiously proud of the chapter title. Famous surrealist art ftw, yo._

 _Three more left!_

 _~Lucinda_


	45. Chapter 44: You Can Go Your Own Way

**Chapter 44: You Can Go Your Own Way**

" _Cassius,_ " Yang Jin's gentle voice- or thoughts, rather- reached into Cassius' mind and pulled him quietly from the realm of unconscious to conscious. Which is to say, he woke in a library, his legs tangled in a heavy wool blanket. Shelves laden with ancient scrolls and thick leather bound tomes, seemingly from every age, every moment in history, towered above him, and stacks of more books were scattered around the library. It seemed to Cassius to be the largest library in the world, bigger than his collection in his bronze lamp, more vast, he thought, even than the enormous Library of Congress, where he had visited once, a lifetime ago with... his parents...

He sat up, head spinning slightly and his heart heavy, and turned to Yang Jin, who sat neatly cross-legged on the floor next to where he had been lying. He wasn't sure what to ask first, so many questions with so many varying emotions whirled around in his head, wordless and uncertain, and oddly, the one that seemed to win out was " _Please, have you got a pair of scissors or something? I really need a haircut."_

Yang Jin smiled. " _Of course. I will fetch a blade. Please remain here, in the Archive, until I return. You may become lost if you wander too far."_ She stood and swept from the room with quiet grace, leaving Cassius on his own to look around some more at this place, this _Archive._ There were reading tables scattered throughout the vast room, and none of them were completely clear, so, curious, Cassius stood and walked, shakily, over to the nearest table to peer at the book that lay open on top of a pile of other books. He was surprised to see a nebulous swirl printed on the page instead. It was not unlike the back of his soul mirror, but the image was static, and there were hardly any of the troubling black wisps that had worried him on his soul mirror. Cautiously, he turned the page, and saw another nebulous swirl. Was the whole book like this?

He was about to turn another page when a large, calloused hand set itself on the book. Cassius looked up, surprised, to see Benjie, looking harrowed. "Please," he said quietly, his sonorous voice a grief-stricken whisper. "Do not."

" _I'm sorry,"_ Cassius thought back, embarrassed that he had been caught snooping. Benjie shook his head and closed the strange book.

"It is I who should apologize, young djinn. The sleeping draft was intended only to help you, but I do not approve of the way in which it was administered."

" _It's fine,"_ Cassius replied, rubbing his forehead with the back of his hand. " _Hey, I don't feel sick anymore!"_

"Your chills subsided as you slept. Your mind allowed the water of Shamba-La to do its work." Benjie explained, his hand not leaving the leather-bound tome, as if protecting it.

Cassius, feeling awkward, looked around the shelves once again in search of a conversation topic. " _...Where is this place? What's that book?"_

Benjie tensed slightly. "This is the Great Archive of All Life," he explained, "a record of every life now passed. As for the book..." Benjie's face was sad. "The child whose life is recorded in those pages was never born."

" _Oh..."_ Cassius wasn't sure what to say to that, but from the look on Benjie's face, he guessed it might be personal. " _Did you..."_ He had no idea where he was going with this.

"There are some memories that even paradise on earth cannot erase." Benjie said somberly, before Cassius could put his foot in his mouth.

" _Cassius,"_ Cassius turned to see Yang Jin, waiting at the tall entryway, framed in golden mid afternoon light. A short blade glinted in her right hand. " _Follow me."_

With one last, hesitant look at Benjie, who was once again looking sorrowfully at the book of the unborn child, Cassius hurried across the many meters of slightly mossy stone floor to Yang Jin, who smiled and gave him a shallow bow in greeting. Cassius copied her action, though he was careful to make his bow deeper than hers as a show of respect.

" _Where are we going?"_ He asked, curious.

" _The fire,"_ Yang Jin replied. " _Even in Shamba-La, a djinn must dispose of his hair according to tradition."_

Cassius nodded, pretending to understand, when it struck him that he hadn't actually gotten his hair cut since before he'd known he was a djinn. He recalled, vaguely, that Nimrod had advised both Cas and Holly to keep careful track of the hairbrushes and combs that they used, but he had never quite been sure what the significance was. Probably something important that Nimrod had neglected to explain because he was talking too enthusiastically about volcanoes again. Cassius smiled to himself. He missed Number 7, Stanhope Terrace, despite how crazy things could get, and he found himself wondering when he would be able to go back there, how much he had left to do after he left Shamba-La, how much it would take to foil whatever insidious plans Beelzebub had in store.

" _We are here,"_ Yang Jin announced, stopping by a merrily blazing fire. Cassius looked at the small thing, a little surprised. He had expected it to be some sort of great bonfire, but the fire to which Yang Jin had led him was little bigger than a campfire on a stone outcropping that looked out over a green valley and a calm, placid lake that reflected the sky. Reverently, Yang Jin held out the dagger she had brought. " _To cut one's hair is to enter a new chapter in one's life. The one who must initiate that change must be yourself, Cassius. No one else."_

Cassius took the dagger in trembling fingers. The weight of it reminded Cassius horribly of Azrael's knife in his hand, but he steeled himself. _What's done is done_. He reminded himself, not knowing if Yang Jin could hear his inner dialogue. Gripping the dagger in his left hand, he gathered his ponytail in his right and began to saw the tangled mess of hair off of his head.

Yang JIn smiled supportively. " _Now throw it to the fire, Cassius. Move into the future and accept the past."_

Cassius gripped the severed ponytail in his right hand for a moment, thinking of all that had happened since he'd become a djinn- so much in less than a year. He closed his eyes, allowing the memory of all the misery to pile up- and he tossed it into the fire with his shorn hair.

" _I'll make my own fate."_

* * *

"What do you mean, 'you're going back now'?!" Buck exclaimed, outraged at Cassius' sudden lack of existential crisis.

They were at the mandala mosaic, and Buck was feeling argumentative.

" _Time is funny here,"_ Cassius explained, " _If I stay too long, who knows what time it might be when I get back."_

" _He has a point, Dybbuk,"_ Mr. Rakshasas chimed in, lupine eyes unreadable. " _Time is a strange thing in Shamba-La. Even should you leave by the Mandala, I have no guarantee that you will return to the exact moment in time you entered Shamba-La, or even how many hours may have passed in the outside world since that time. Young Cassius has an important duty to perform for the sake of not only himself, but humankind, djinnkind, Heaven, and Earth."_

"But..." Buck interjected, but cut off abruptly, as if he was embarrassed to admit something.

" _What is it?"_ Cassius asked. Buck set out his lower jaw in a mulish expression.

"I don't think I can leave yet, though. We started this journey together, shouldn't we return together?"

" _If you're not ready, you're not ready."_ Cassius shrugged. " _Not much we can do about that. But like I said, I'm needed out there."_ He stepped towards the mandala and looked again at Mr. Rakshasas. " _How does this thing work?"_

"Wait," Cassius turned once again to his cousin, who closed the distance between them and clapped a hand on his shoulder. "Say hi to Holly for me. And John and Philippa if you see them."

" _Okay,"_

"Add... take care of yourself, Golden Boy." Buck patted him on the shoulder one more time before turning back and walking back the way he had come.

" _Goodbye,"_ Cassius said to his cousin's retreating back as a beam of blue light rose from the centre of the mandala up to the sky.

Buck's back stiffened. "See you later."

Cassius met the wolfish eyes of Mr. Rakshasas and nodded. Then, with a grim expression darkening his face, Cassius stepped into the beam of light at the center of the mandala.

The first thing he noticed was the sudden return of his powers, flooding back into his system like the warmth from a blazing hearth at the end of a cold day, filling his blood with a welcome fire.

A hot summer wind tickled his newly exposed ears, and Cassius looked at his new surroundings. He stood beneath the branches of a gnarled old yew tree, ten paces away from a slab of granite. In the distance, familiar skyscrapers rose up like smog shrouded giants, and the city traffic hummed and honked endlessly. Cassius smiled, a bittersweet feeling taking hold of him as he recognized the place: Calvary Cemetery, New York City.

Though he'd only been here twice before, his feet took him to where he knew he needed to go, and moments later, Cassius found himself standing beside a double-wide gravestone bearing the names _William Sean Malone_ and _Nia Grace Malone_.

Cassius could feel the tears welling up, unbidden, in his eyes, and he closed them, wishing with a whisper. When he opened his eyes, a bouquet of white lilies lay at the base of the headstone. Smiling despite the tears that persisted in forming, Cassius laid his left hand on the stone and patted it fondly. "Well Mom. Dad. I have a job to do, but don't worry. I won't do anything stupid. And I won't run away anymore." He patted the tombstone again. "Goodbye."

* * *

 ** _Author's Notes:_** _One more chapter and an epilogue, people. Then we're done with this one and I get to figure out how to incorporate the twelve different storylines I have going in my head into the next one, haha. At some point I promise that I'll end this. Totally. No idea how, though. And I'll totally stop making Nimrod completely ineffectual. Someday._

 _Anyway, chapter 45 will probably go up the middle of next week and the epilogue on the Sunday after that._

 _Cheers!_

 _~Lucinda_


	46. Chapter 45: No Good in Gone

**Chapter 45: No Good in 'Gone Without a Trace'**

When Holly thought back to this particular incident, she suspected that the only thing stopping her from leaping across the table and decking Jonathan Teer in his smug face was Sarah's hazel eyes fixed intently on her as the blood rushed to Holly's face, all the fire that had left her in her day of cold food back in full force. Muffled snickers from the lamp weren't helping Holly keep her composure, and Nimrod was going red in the face, struggling to keep his own composure. John, Philippa, and Groanin looked shell-shocked, Mark seemed to be half-asleep, and Sarah had tilted her head to the side, as if she did not quite understand what had just been said.

It was Alexandra who spoke while everyone else was still searching for words. Her voice, as it did when she was blazingly furious, had gone icy. Quiet, even. "Do you have any idea, Ifrit," she began, rising with devastating calm from her seat and taking sedate steps past Sarah, towards where Jonathan Teer sat, "how much that boy means to my daughter?" She set her well manicured henna tattooed hands on Jonathan Teer's shoulders. "How happy she was- we _all_ were- to hear that he was doing well?" Her hands slid to his collar and began to pull the djinn up from his seat. "How worried we have been since he left?" Holly always forgot how _tall_ her mother was, especially when she drew herself to her full height. "How long we've waited to hear something- _anything_ from the police?" The Ifrit's toes left the carpeting and dangled a few inches in the air. Alexandra's eyes were blazing. "And you tell us now, that the only correspondence we have received from our wayward djinn, the _only_ clue to his whereabouts, was a cheap ploy to rescue your piece of shit father?"

Jonathan, rightly, looked absolutely terrified as he struggled vainly to stop choking on his collar, his feet twitching in the air as he gasped for air. Frantic, he nodded, all the smugness gone from his face. He let out a garbled cry that might have been words, and Nimrod held up his hand, though he looked quite murderous himself. "Let him speak, Alexandra."

With a contemptuous sneer, Alexandra let go of the Ifrit, who lost his balance and fell in a heap on the floor. "This had better be good." She warned, as Jonathan coughed, rubbing his throat where the collar had left red marks.

"The stuff I said about him being able to bind Azazel was true. Dad's the best at diminuendo bindings. If you got him to agree to binding that little bastard, then everyone's problems are solved, right?" He returned to his seat and looked appraisingly at his still steaming bowl of hodgepodge soup, as if he was actually considering eating a spoonful or two.

"But as usual, you were careful to ensure that you got more out of this than we did." Nimrod observed tersely.

"Well yeah, I'm not a trusting idiot." Jonathan snorted, regaining his complacency as he sniffed the hodgepodge soup suspiciously.

Instinctively, Holly shot up out of her seat, fists pounding on the tabletop, shaking her pipe-and-cereal bowl. "You wanna _go_?!" She snarled across the table at him. "You retroactively _ruined_ my birthday party!"

This time, the only thing that stopped Holly was the gust of gale-force wind that threw the kitchen doors open, and the unbelievably self-satisfied djinn who stood behind them, smirking.

Now Nimrod was on his feet. " _Iblis_."

Iblis' smirk widened. "Nimrod."

Alexandra stood and drifted towards her daughter, niece, and nephew protectively.

"How did you get in here?" Nimrod asked, his face even redder than it had been before upon seeing his old archnemesis.

Iblis shrugged carelessly. "Through the kitchen. Someone left the door open."

Holly cringed. It had been she who had neglected the latch on the back door, caught up in the excitement of finding an intruder. The movement attracted Iblis' attention, and he sneered at her.

"Well, I thought I'd find you here." His beady eyes glittered with malice when he noticed John and Philippa on either side of her, and taking particular note of John's wheelchair. Then, to Nimrod, he said, "My, my, Nimrod, you have been slacking. What adventu- Jonathan, is that you?" Iblis let out an uncharacteristic squawk when he finally noticed his third-youngest son leaning around the back of his chair, eyes lit up and grinning.

"Dad! I knew you'd show!" Jonathan spilled out of his seat and, much to everyone's surprise, caught his father in a tight hug. "I can't believe it's been three years."

"Jonathan, I'm attempting to negotiate a hostage situation here. And you're twenty-seven." Iblis frowned disapprovingly, but patted his son on the back before adding, "but I missed you as well." Disentangling himself from his son's embrace, Iblis turned his attention to Holly again. "Now, where is Rudyard?"

Holly, quick as a flash, grabbed the silver lamp and hid it behind her back. "Where's Azazel?" She shot back. Iblis scowled, but never the less tugged a small statuette from the inner pocket of his tailored Italian suit. Holly squinted at it. About six inches tall, the statuette in Iblis' hand did indeed look creepily like Azazel, exactly as Holly had last seen him in her vision, right down to the tiny bags underneath his tiny glassy green eyes.

Nimrod's outrage had faded into being horrorstruck. "Surely even you wouldn't have... Your own nephew?" Nimrod's eyes darted momentarily- and more than a little guiltily- to John before pulling his glasses out to examine the small facsimile of Azazel more closely.

"My own nephew." Iblis confirmed grimly. "It was the price I paid for my freedom. Now, little Marid, let Rudyard out of that tacky lamp you have behind your back."

Holly puffed out her cheeks with irritation, but tugged the wadded-up headband from the lamp. "Hey, Rudy, you can come out now. Your dad's here to get you."

Black smoke poured from the wick and in moments, the surly form of Rudyard Teer had materialized in the dining room, glaring daggers at his father. Jonathan, not seeming to notice the teenager's air of grouchiness, practically attacked him with a hug as well. "Rudy! Dang, you're getting tall! Hey, no getting taller than me, okay?"

"Get off me!" Rudyard shoved his brother away and tried to conceal his flushed face hearing Holly's barely-contained snort at his brother's nickname for him.

"All right, that's everyone, let's leave." Iblis straightened his suit jacket and turned back to the kitchen.

"Hey wait a minute!" Holly shouted, vaulting over the table to confront the Ifrit before he left. Or, at least, she _tried_ to vault over the table. In actuality, she landed clumsily in the middle and had to scramble her way across the rest of it.

"Holly you're leaving scuff marks-" Nimrod winced, but Holly was, for once in her life, focused.

"Aren't you forgetting? Hand Azazel over! You got your freedom, Rudy's back, now give me my archnemesis! That was the deal!"

Iblis arched an eyebrow. "As I recall, the deal was only to perform a diminuendo binding on my nephew," he said smoothly, "I am under no obligation to hand him over to _you_ after that was done."

Holly's expression became very tight-lipped and she could feel the blood rising to her face again. Why did _every single one_ of these Teers have to be so everlastingly _irritating_?

A temper tantrum was on the near horizon, Holly was sure of it, except that in the moment before she grasped hold of a coherent insult to throw Iblis' way, the kitchen doors burst open _again_ to reveal Bartholomew Aalesworth, red in the face, sweating like a horse and looking stricken.

Iblis stopped reveling in his petty victory immediately. "Bart. What are you doing here? Where's Dimme?" The alarm in his voice was so evident that everyone was surprised.

Bart's expression was dire as he looked at the Ifrit. "Gone." Was all he said, but it was enough for Iblis to go ashen-faced.

"Boys, we're leaving. _Now_." He glanced at the bound Azazel then tossed it carelessly to Holly, who had to dive to catch it. "He's your problem now." The next second, Iblis swept from the dining room, dragging Bart along with him and followed by his sons.

"Dad, when did you start caring what happened to Aunt Dimme?" Jonathan asked as the back door was slammed shut.

"That tears it. I'm changing the locks." Groanin announced.

* * *

 _ **Author's Notes:** Well I still have to figure out how I'm structuring the next one. Epilogue on Sunday!_

 _~Lucinda_


	47. Epilogue: The Imprisoned

_tw: rape mention/allusion, domestic violence(?)_

 **Epilogue: The Imprisoned**

 _Anywhere but here._ Dimme sat at a kitchen table she had left behind seventeen years ago, her hands shaking where she had folded them neatly but her face, hopefully, unreadable as she gazed resolutely at the peeling wallpaper on the wall opposite. _Why couldn't it have been anywhere but here?_

The front door of the seedy flat opened, and Dimme flinched, cursing herself for doing so. In vain, she tried to still her trembling folded hands as the demon Beelzebub stepped from the black void beyond the front door, closely followed by the woman- the black-robed being- that had brought her to this place.

"Oh, give it up, Ifritah." Beelzebub almost purred, his lips curled in a sinister smile. "You know no one can help you now. Why not give up and assist me? A wicked creature like you would be an excellent help to my plans." One of his prosthetic fingers ghosted around Dimme's jaw, and she stiffened, but successfully fought back the urge to shudder, her eyes remaining resolutely fixed on the wallpaper, silent.

"What's wrong, Ifritah?" His finger brushed back her bangs, and she fought back a wave of nausea at the touch. "Cat got your tongue?"

Resolutely staring straight ahead, Dimme shook her head in the negative.

The demon leaned closer, so close that his lips were almost brushing Dimme's ear. "Then speak." He ordered, a little of the gloating giving way to an edge of impatience. "It's been so long since I've heard your pretty voice."

Again, Dimme shook her head and clasped her hands tightly together on the kitchen table, keeping her stubborn silence.

"Well, Azrael," Beelzebub said to his black-robed companion, though his prosthetic fingers still lingered around Dimme's jaw, "If my little Ifritah won't give me a merry conversation, I suppose I shall have to entertain myself in a different manner." From his pocket, he drew out a fleshy lump that moved with a steady heartbeat.

"Don't-" entreated Azrael, the fear in her voice painfully obvious, even to the disengaged Dimme. "I swear, your boys have vanished, I tried-" Azrael gave a gasp of pain as Beelzebub squeezed the fleshy lump mercilessly, and she sank to the slightly sticky vinyl tile, clutching her chest where her heart ought to be. Beelzebub squeezed the lump harder, and Azrael began to weep, but whether with pain or with shame, Dimme did not know.

What she did know was that the pain was there. "Stop," she said before thinking. Beelzebub's mismatched eyes glinted with cruel satisfaction.

"Ah," he said, his voice heavy with false sincerity, "she speaks. What will she say, I wonder?" He slipped the lump back into his pocket and turned back to Dimme, who quickly returned her gaze to the wallpaper. Her mind was a blank. Nothing, nothing but this place-

"They will find me," she said quietly, as much to herself as to the demon.

The false hand was back, barely there and yet insistent. "What did you say?" Beelzebub asked.

Dimme straightened in her chair and lifted her chin with the air of a queen. "They will find me," she repeated proudly.

Beelzebub chuckled with wicked mirth. "Is that all? I fear you've led yourself into delusions. There's as much chance of anyone finding you here as a snowball has in Hell. And I ought to know- being second in command down there."

Dimme endeavored to take deep breaths and keep away from eye contact. "Then you don't know my family very well." She replied insolently.

That brought back the curling, sinister smile. "Oh don't I? I knew who you were even before you did." The prosthetic finger stroked her neck gently. "I've been around since before your family name began. I watched them rise to greatness time and time again. I flatter myself to think that I know more about your family than even they do."

Dimme's hands were shaking; there was no point in trying to hide it any longer. She glared with all her venom at the demon, who looked mildly amused in return.

"Now, now, there's no need to get hot under the collar." His false fingers brushed at the collar of her shirt, at the buttons underneath.

Dimme smacked his hand away and stood on shaking legs. "Stop it." Even her voice was shaking now. Why did it have to be here? "Don't touch me." She stumbled around Azrael, who was still on the floor in disgrace and shame, and backed into the short hallway. Beelzebub, utterly unconcerned, kicked Azrael out of the way and advanced.

"I would have thought running was beneath you, Ifritah," the demon remarked dryly. "It only delays the inevitable. You know that."

Dimme's back hit a door. The bathroom, she remembered, fumbling at the handle, only to find it locked, and Beelzebub was there, so close that she could smell the stink of rotting food on his breath.

"You see? I caught up to you. What was the point, if you knew you had no hope?" Beelzebub sighed and shrugged carelessly. Then, before Dimme had a chance to react, he struck her across the face with his true arm, sending her sprawling at another door, which she briefly considered fleeing through... until she remembered what room lay beyond and froze, feeling the bruise blossom on her cheek.

"I thought you said... last time... after you met Azazel, you couldn't touch me unless I willed it." Dimme rose, bracing herself against the doorframe and looking carefully at the floor.

"What can I say?" Beelzebub shrugged, and seized her chin in his true hand, his grip icy. Slowly, agonizingly slowly, he turned her face towards himself. Dimme tried desperately to avoid eye contact, even as he leaned in so that their noses nearly touched. The moment her eyes met his was the demon's moment of triumph. "I'm a demon. We lie. But I'll tell you what I'm going to do, Ifritah. I won't hurt you unless you force my hand, so again, my advice to you is simple. Give up. Join me. Is it so offensive to your personal philosophies? To serve a demon? Are we really so different from each other?" He pressed her against the door with his prosthetic hand, watching with wicked satisfaction as her pupils dilated uncontrollably with fear. "Things could be far more pleasant for you with your cooperation. The demon was so close that his lips brushed Dimme's as he spoke, allowing the smell of rot wash over her like poisonous gas. "Very pleasant indeed."

The shudder that ran through Dimme's body was involuntary as, helpless, she could only watch Beelzebub close what little distance was left between them as their lips met, and he kissed her, so gently, so softly, so sadistically. Weakly, Dimme tried to push him away, but for her efforts, the unwanted kiss hardened into something more forceful, more cruel, more telling of the evil at whose mercy she had fallen.

It lasted too long. Any amount of time was too long, but the seconds dragged on like centuries, and in this strange space, perhaps they were. But at long last, with a self-satisfied smirk, Beelzebub stepped back, leaving Dimme shaking in the doorway, and strode down the short hallway, towards the battered front door of the flat, kicking Azrael on his way, a silent signal for her to follow. Dimme didn't watch. She couldn't. But the moment she heard the front door click shut behind them, her legs gave out, her resolve crumbled, and she felt hot djinn tears pouring steadily down her cheeks and dripping silently onto the threadbare carpet below, hunched over with misery and terror as she was, arms curled protectively around her belly, and she felt as she had, seventeen years ago. Broken. Violated. Vengeful.

* * *

 **To Be Continued**

 **in:**

 _ **Children of the Lamp:**_

 _ **The Sinister Scion of Beelzebub**_

 **(I mean probably)**

 **On Ao3**

 **Lord only knows when**


End file.
